


Ship Happens

by DarcyDelaney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Cruise Ships, DCBB 2019, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Forbidden Love, M/M, Star-crossed, Vacation, Vague hints of past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney/pseuds/DarcyDelaney
Summary: Cas needs a vacation. Everyone knows it, and his brothers finally manage to wrangle him aboard a two-week cruise in a valiant attempt to get the stick out of his ass. Cas isn’t expecting much, least of all striking up a friendship-or-is-it-more with a certain green-eyed bartender who’s got an affinity for swearing, comic books, and most surprisingly, Cas. There’s just one catch that’s keeping them from sailing off into the sunset together: it’s forbidden for crew to date guests. Period. It’s Romeo and Juliet on the high seas, but gayer. And with less (read: zero) deaths.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to share this little guy for the 2019 DCBB! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it, but first, a couple of people who I'm forever grateful to:
> 
> Massive thanks to [Vieroksuja](https://vieroksuja.tumblr.com/), who created INCREDIBLE art that may or may not be my laptop background right this second. Thank you so much for picking my little fic, and for contributing your stunning talents! The art is embedded in the fic, and also in the [art masterpost](https://vieroksuja.tumblr.com/post/188560711760/read-the-fic-here), ready and waiting for love!
> 
> [insominia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia) and [shikaro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shikaro) beta'd the shit out of this (and insominia is also responsible for the inscription Cas chooses in chapter three, which literally made me cackle when I read it). Thank you both so much!
> 
> A million thanks also go out to [NikkiSage/Guardianknight11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiSage/pseuds/NikkiSage), who listened to me squee, panic, and wring my hands over this fic for the past few months. Her first DCBB (!!!) will be posted on Halloween and is SO FREAKIN' GOOD; treat yo'self and check it out!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy <3!

  


“No.”

“Baby bro, you haven’t even—”

“_No_,” Cas repeats, with force this time, and he hasn’t seen Gabe’s face fall this quickly since the time he found out he couldn’t bring the fireworks he’d bought in Australia back home with him.

“But Cassie,” Balthazar whines, sprawling himself out across the couch and draping the back of his hand dramatically over his forehead, “if you don’t come, who’s going to bail us out of sea jail?”

Cas can tell Gabe tries to hide it, but he still catches his brother’s urgent slashing motion across his throat, silently pleading with Balthazar to play up a different angle of what’s surely in the top five worst ideas he’s ever had.

“Don’t dismiss the gravity of sea jail, darling,” Balthazar says, smiling sweetly at Gabe. “It’s horrible. Positively devious. And wet.”

“Just like you, asshole,” Gabe mutters, shoving him hard in the arm. Balthazar laughs.

Cas shakes his head. “You don’t need me; you can handle all of that perfectly well yourself. Balthazar included.”

“Damn it, Cas, I don’t want you there as a babysitter,” Gabe snaps.

Cas considers this, then snaps his fingers. “You need to buy three tickets for some kind of special deal or something, then, don’t you?”

Gabe leans back, doing his best attempt at looking affronted; to Cas, he just looks constipated. He scoffs, “Christ, of course not. Come on, is it so ridiculous to think I might just want you to come out of the goodness of my heart? To spend my birthday _ both _ of enjoying my darling brothers’ company?”

Cas looks at him flatly. “Yes.”

Gabe drops his head back against the recliner and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You just need a _ break _, okay?”

“From what?”

Gabe stares at him, then throws his hands in the air. “‘From what?’” he mimics, rolling his eyes. “Everything. If you’re not eating, sleeping, or shitting, you’re working.”

“Isn’t that what everyone does?”

“_No_!” his brothers say in unison, and Cas winces.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my work-life ba—”

“Trust us, Cassie,” Balthazar says reassuringly, “there is.”

“Even if there is—which I’m _ not _ admitting, by the way—but even if there is, I don’t need your help snapping out of it.” Cas loves his brothers, he does, but he can barely handle them on a good day; there’s no way he’s paying $3,000 for the fucking privilege of spending two weeks trapped on a ship with them, birthday or not.

“Come on, now,” Balthazar says, trying a different tactic. “They even have bingo.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“How old do you think I am?”

“Old enough to appreciate a good game of B-I-N-G-O?” Gabe asks hopefully. When Cas shakes his head, Gabe pouts, but doesn’t try to argue anything further.

Balthazar clears his throat and leans forward, arms resting on his thighs. “All right, listen,” he says. “Jokes aside, all business now, yeah? You can’t bury yourself in work, no matter how much you might want to.”

“Yeah. And are you really going to deny your lovely brother the pleasure of your company for his dirty thirty?”

“You’re turning thirty-five,” Cas snaps, and Gabe flips him off.

“Age is just a number, kiddo,” he says. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s the use of a childhood nickname or the general desire to be a people-pleaser (or the fact that he really _ could _ use a goddamn vacation), but something about that makes Cas pause. 

Gabe seems to sense his hesitation, and latches onto it. “If I could have _ any _thing for my birthday, it’d be for my two brothers and I to have a boys’ trip and take the Novak genes international. I mean, can you imagine? It’d be so—” He cuts himself off before pressing his fingers to his lips and offering a sloppy chef’s kiss. “—magnifique.”

“I can’t help but notice you haven’t said ‘no’ in a while,” Balthazar adds, looking expectantly at both of them. 

Cas groans and buries his face in his hands. He takes a deep breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, and starts talking to the floor. “You know what, fine,” he mumbles defeatedly. “Fine. When are we booking it?”

When Cas looks up again, Gabe’s grinning widely, and he immediately wants to retract his statement. He digs into his pocket and hands Cas a badly crumpled plane ticket. Cas stares at it the second it hits his palm, then looks up at his brother. “Are you kidding me?”

“We leave on Wednesday.”

* * *

Cas likes his job. He does. It’s steady work, he knows what to expect, and yes, it might be a little mundane, but he’s good at it. Cas likes his job.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

He’s been a copywriter for MedicALL since he graduated from college after spending a semester there as a marketing intern. He’d been so grateful they actually wanted to _ pay _ him for something he went to school for that it didn’t matter that he was being paid well, _ well _ below industry standards, or the fact that he was working 60-hour weeks without overtime.

Fast-forward ten years later, and his aspirations of one day writing a bestseller are gathering dust, but at least he’s using his degree. That’s what his parents always tell him, so that’s what he always tells himself. 

There’s a soft knock on the edge of Cas’ cubicle, and he looks up to see his boss and the company’s head copywriter, Naomi, looking at him. 

“Hello, Castiel,” she says, taking a seat in the chair next to his desk. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Cas says cautiously. It’s weird seeing Naomi out in the wild; she never comes out of her office for anything if she can help it. He gets it, Cas is an introvert himself, but his boss takes “recluse” to a whole new level. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, I just wanted to discuss this with you.” She hands over a sheet of paper, which Cas recognizes as a printout of the email where he’d requested his time off.

As much as he hates to admit it, a tiny blip of hope that there’s some kind of conflict sparks in his chest as he asks, “Oh. Will it not work? I’m sorry, I can—”

“No, no, no,” she interrupts, taking the paper back from him. “I wanted to be sure this wasn’t a mistake. It’s not every day—or every _ year _, for that matter—that a vacation request from Castiel Novak comes across my desk.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile, which Cas forces himself to return.

Maybe Gabe and Balthazar had been right.

“I’ll be going on a cruise with my brothers,” he tells her. 

Naomi’s facial expression doesn’t change when she says, “Oh, that sounds lovely. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

_ Here’s hoping_.

“I’ll still expect that section on radiation protection aprons ready for print before you go, of course.” She taps two fingers on the massive stack of proofs on Cas’ desk, and he nods quickly. 

“Absolutely.”

And _ that’s _ what makes Naomi break into a real smile.

Once she’s gone, Cas grabs his pen with a mind to resume his work, but instead, a message from the company IM system pops up.

**Carroll, Hannah:** Did I just hear that right? Is Castiel Novak going on a VACATION???

Cas sighs and cracks the fingers of his free hand against his desk before dropping his pen once again.

**Novak, Castiel:** Gabe and Balthazar invited me. They already bought my ticket.

**Carroll, Hannah:** Fooooooor?

**Novak, Castiel:** A cruise.

Seconds after he hits ENTER, he hears a chair roll backward across the creaky office floor and isn’t the least bit surprised to see his coworker Hannah standing expectantly at his cube. 

“When were you planning on telling me?” she demands.

Cas pauses, catching his bottom lip between his teeth before spreading his hands wide with an apologetic smile. “Surprise…?”

Hannah rolls her eyes and takes a seat in Cas’ spare chair, where Naomi had just been. “Hannah, I actually have to finish some work—”

Hannah scoffs, waving him off. “Those oxygen tanks will be there in five minutes.” She rests her chin in her hands, looking at him with a dreamy gaze. “I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise.”

Cas leans back in his chair and chuckles, balancing his green editing pen on two fingers. “You are _ more _ than welcome to take my spot.”

Hannah wrinkles her nose. “And spend two weeks with your brothers? Please.”

He rolls his eyes. “My thoughts exactly.”

“How did they even convince you?” Her eyes narrow and she glances around conspiratorially. “Blackmail?”

“Are you asking if they blackmailed me, or if I need you to help me dig up some blackmail on them so I can get out of this stupid trip?”

Hannah’s eyes light up. “Ooh, I was thinking the first one, but if you need help with the second—”

“I’m good, thanks.” Cas taps his pen on the stack of proofs on his desk waiting for his review. “Seriously, though, Naomi’s not going to let me leave this cube, let alone this office, if these aren’t done before I leave.”

“And when is that?”

“Wednesday.”

Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Cas, today is Friday.”

“I’m aware.”

Hannah gets to her feet and considers the proofs thoughtfully. Before she leaves, she grabs a thick stack of them and swats Cas away as he tries to grab them back.

“Hannah, what are you—”

“Consider it a pre-vacation present,” she says with a grin. “That, and if I know you at all, I know you’ll purposely fuck this up so that you can’t go. And trust me, I know you well.”

Cas opens and closes his mouth, trying to find an adequate response to Hannah’s creepily accurate observation, and she laughs. “Find me for lunch, okay?” And before Cas can answer, she turns on her heel and leaves his cube, humming, “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful ship…” 

“Not comforting!” he shouts after her.

“Not my problem!”

* * *

Cas had been planning on his weekend involving nothing but sleeping, a long run or two, and hours of trashy reality TV, but next week’s change of plans has him panicking about cruise safety regulations and Googling the most effective seasickness remedies instead. By the time he opens the ninth tab offering advice to first-time cruisers (he’s still not over the fact that they have a fucking _ name _ for themselves, for Christ’s sake), he wonders if it’s too late to pawn his ticket off on Hannah.

He clicks over to another page titled “What type of cruise is right for you?” which he half-expects to be a goddamn Buzzfeed quiz, and is almost disappointed when it isn’t. He didn’t even know there _ were _ different types of cruises, and the idea of an entire article being written about them makes his brain hurt. He closes out of the page and takes in the seemingly endless row of tabs open in front of him in his browser, then closes his eyes and randomly clicks on one.

From questions about how much money to bring on a cruise to 15 things you ABSOLUTELY NEED TO KNOW before your first time on board, Cas’ head is a jumble of shore excursions, cruiser etiquette, and overpriced drink packages. By the time he stumbles upon a word-matching game involving different terms “to make you sound like a bona fide cruiser,” Cas is about ready to put in a preorder of three of said overpriced drink packages, all for himself.

Cas leans in, squinting at his screen as he reads a list of “25 Incredible Cruise Ship Facts.” The first few are relatively straightforward, but the fourth one down makes him pause.

“Every cruise ship has a morgue on bo...Jesus Christ,” he mutters, leaning away from the screen almost as quickly as he’d learned forward. “Good. Good, good, good.”

The next website offers a walkthrough tour of one of the ships. It’s not the exact one they’ll be on, but it’s more than enough to give Cas an idea of what he’s in for.

Screaming kids (and screaming parents), flowing booze, crowded dining rooms—it’s like an inescapable college orientation complete with icebreakers and forced laughter and awkward conversations.

It’s an introvert’s nightmare.

No wonder his brothers are so excited.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, then closes his laptop without finishing the video and gets to his feet, digging in his pocket for his keys.

He needs a distraction. And, according to the host of a video titled “Best Cruise Tips and Tricks from the Nautical Pros,” a new suitcase.

* * *

Thanks to Hannah, Cas had finished his work with a good six hours to spare, and Wednesday arrives too soon. After a less-than-ideal subway ride involving overly enthusiastic tourists, a pack of drunk college students trying to find their way to the House of Blues, and Cas tripping over his own feet in his efforts to drag his overstuffed suitcase down the street behind him, he finally arrives at Gabe’s house.

It’s a towering Victorian that Cas sees as the definition of an eyesore with its deep purple exterior, bright teal shutters, and matching front door. It’s far too big for the lot it’s in, crammed on the corner of the street across from a run-down salvage yard, and Cas can just picture all the ticks he’s probably attracting as he tugs his suitcase through the overgrown yard.

Cas hasn’t even raised his hand to knock on Gabe’s front door when his brother whips it open. “Party’s hereeee!” he yelps in a singsong voice, grabbing Cas by the wrist and pulling him inside. Cas stumbles forward into his kitchen with its black-and-white tiles and novelty glass jars full of candy, and wonders, not for the first time, how his brother manages to pass as a functioning adult.

Of course, it had been the idea of his oldest (and arguably, most immature) brother to have everyone spend the night at his place to make things easier when it came to getting to the airport and catching flights in just a few short hours. Cas had been expecting to arrive and subsequently crash, but after being in his house for just a few minutes, it’s clear that Gabriel had been planning an entire goddamn shindig.

Balthazar has already made himself at home in the living room, curled up on the recliner with a beer in his hand, three pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table in front of him. He salutes Cas when he enters, and Cas nods tiredly before dropping down onto one corner of the couch. In an effort to make getting to the airport the next day as uneventful as possible, Gabe had offered up his place as a home base for them to spend the night. Cas had been expecting to arrive and subsequently crash, but after being in his house for just a few minutes, it’s clear that Gabe had had an entire goddamn shindig in mind.

“Boys’ trip!” he shouts, flopping down onto the free couch. “The Novak brothers take to the high seas!” He pauses, then adds, “We should’ve made matching T-shirts. Think it’s too late for us to make matching T-shirts?”

“Tragically, I’m afraid so,” Balthazar says, flipping open a pizza box and grabbing a slice. Cas can see the heat radiating off of it, and cringes as Balthazar struggles to inhale the thing without scalding his mouth—or losing any of the toppings—in the process.

Gabe looks genuinely disappointed for a second, and Cas uses the rare moment of silence to lay out on his back, hands resting against his chest. He closes his eyes, hoping to just relax and pass out until they have to catch their flight, but the few seconds of peacefulness don’t last long.

“You boys ever seen _ Love Island _?” Gabe asks, flipping the remote in his hand and turning on the TV. When nobody answers, he tsks disappointedly and flips over to a streaming service Cas doesn’t recognize. “We’re remedying that tonight, gents.”

Cas stares at him. “I thought we were just here to sleep,” he says. “We need to be awake in four hours.”

“And what better way to spend those four hours than soaked in manufactured drama and fake tits?” Gabe asks, queuing up the latest episode.

Cas looks helplessly at Balthazar, who shrugs. “Two of my favorite things,” he says, reaching for another slice of pizza.

“Majority rules!” Gabe whoops, and hits PLAY.

Instead of waking up to his alarm, Cas comes to with the sounds of his brothers discussing whatever scandal had just happened on that island Cas couldn’t care less about. He blinks awake and squints blearily at the two of them before clumsily digging into his pocket for his phone. 

Stretching his muscles out from the nap, Cas shoots bolt upright when his eyes focus enough to read the time.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he demands, tumbling off the couch and tugging on his shoes. “Our plane leaves in two hours, we’re going to miss it if we don’t leave right n—”

He’s interrupted by Gabe’s phone chiming on the coffee table. His brother scoops it up with a grin and turns off the TV with a quick shout of, “Cabs are here!”

Cas almost drops his phone, watching helplessly as his brothers grab their things and start tromping toward the door.

“Wrong show, darling,” Balthazar says, clapping a hand on Gabe’s shoulder as he shoves the empty pizza boxes under the coffee table. “Look alive, Cassie,” he adds, turning his attention to his younger brother. “Plane leaves in two hours, and we’re going to miss it if we don’t leave right now.” 

Cas stares at him, and he winks. With a sigh, Cas hefts his backpack over his shoulder and grabs his suitcase, hoping that the goddamn pizza boxes will cause Gabe to return to some kind of ant or rodent infestation.

He’s not picky.

* * *

Cas had already been having second thoughts about this whole thing, but he starts having third, fourth, and fifth when his oldest brother emerges from the liquor store with three oversized bottles of tequila at ten-thirty in the morning.

They’d wasted no time after touching down in Florida, scouting out an Uber before making a beeline for the nearest—and biggest—liquor store in Fort Lauderdale, with Cas’ (perfectly reasonable, thank you very much) request of breakfast having gone ignored.

“_That’s _ the good stuff, there we go,” Balthazar says, tapping his palms on the back of the driver’s seat as Gabe throws the passenger door open and climbs back inside. 

Their driver, a lanky guy with a mullet and a hat that’s probably older than Cas himself, follows Gabe’s hands longingly as they dig into the paper bag. “We also accept non-monetary tips, my man.”

Gabriel glances at him and winks before tossing a nip of peppermint schnapps his way. 

The bottles clink together when Balthazar reaches forward, sticks his hand inside the bag, and pulls one out, admiring it like it’s the Hope Diamond. “Hello, my lovely,” he says, nuzzling the bottle to his cheek before tucking it reverently next to him.

“Get a room, huh?” Gabe says, smacking Balthazar on the shoulder before turning to Cas on the other side of the backseat. He smiles widely and hands him a bottle. “For you, my good man.”

Cas wrinkles his nose as the bottle is jammed into his hands, feeling like someone whose cat just presented them with a dead mouse. “I don’t want this.”

“Maybe not, but _ we _ do. Each of us gets a free bottle to pack with our luggage, and I ain’t wasting space, baby bro.” He turns back around and points out the window, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes before yelling, “All aboard, gentlemen!”

Cas adjusts his seatbelt so that it’s a little tighter as their Uber driver careens out of the parking lot and turns toward the port. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types out a pained text to Hannah.

_ Help me. Please. _

_ Don’t you mean S-O-S? _ A winky face pops up a second later, and Cas rolls his eyes. 

_ If that’s what it’ll take for you to fly down here and bring me home, then yes. S-O-fucking-S. _

He knows it’s a lost cause—Hannah’s been badgering him to take a vacation (“Or even a _ day _ , Cas, just one _ day _”) for months now—but he can’t help but try.

Sure enough, she sends him a GIF from that stupid comedy sketch about being on boats, and Cas locks his phone defeatedly. He leans his head against the glass of the window, trying to tune out his brothers yelling along to fucking “Tubthumping,” because things just can’t get any worse.

Gabe twists in his seat to face Cas again, clutching his vodka bottle like a microphone and locking eyes with Cas as he croons, “Pissing the night away, pissing the _ niiiiiiiight _ away…”

Cas throws an empty fast food cup at his head, and Gabe cackles as he dodges it, eyes bright with delight, before turning around and smacking the roof of the car in tempo with the music.

Cas isn’t sure if he believes in a god, but one thing’s for sure: _ someone _ up there obviously has a fucking death wish for him.

Cas had expected security as they arrived at the port, but what he hadn’t been prepared for was to feel like they were entering a military base just to get on a goddamn ship.

As they approach the entrance, their driver digs into his back pocket for his own passport, then taps it against his closed window with a quick, “Y’all are going to need these.”

“Shit,” Gabe mutters, and Cas turns on his brother, staring at him. 

“Don’t tell me you don’t have your passport,” he says.

“Fine,” Gabriel says, “I won’t tell ya. Gimme my bag, huh?”

“Jesus Christ, Gabe…” Cas swallows down the anxiety in his gut as he passes Gabe’s carry-on bag to him, watching as he immediately starts unzipping and rummaging through the compartments. 

“Pretty sure he doesn’t have it, but thanks for checking,” Gabe says, his voice muffled as he sticks his face into one of his bag’s oversized pockets.

Balthazar rests a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “He’s got it,” he says. “He had to show it to get on the plane, after all.”

That’s the logical conclusion to come to, but in spite of that fact, Cas’ mind starts spinning with different worst-case scenarios, each one of them boiling down to a single conclusion: this take-no-shit security guard will force them all out of the car, pat them down, have them arrested for _ something_, and he’ll end up spending a vacation that he’s already sure will undoubtedly feel like prison in an actual jail cell and—

“Found it!” Gabe shouts triumphantly, holding up his weathered passport victoriously. He’s just in time, too; their driver has pulled up to the security gate, and a woman who completely personifies everything Cas had feared peers sternly into their car, hand outstretched. Her eyes dart between their passports and their faces, and Gabriel smiles.

“No identity thieves here, sweetheart,” he says, and Cas’ heart, which had just started to resume its normal rhythm, nearly stops. He leans forward between the two front seats and smacks his brother hard on the shoulder.

“She doesn’t think you’re funny,” he hisses.

The security guard tips her glasses down the bridge of her nose, further scrutinizing Gabe’s identification. “He’s right,” she says, eyes darting up toward Cas as she returns Gabe’s passport. “I don’t.”

Once they’re through the checkpoint, they drive down a ridiculous maze of lanes overstuffed with people, some darting out from between parked cars like they have a death wish, and others standing around, completely oblivious to everything going on around them.

Their driver pulls off to the side and gives them all of ten seconds to get themselves and their bags out of his car. He sticks his hand out through the open window, smacks his palm against his car door, shouts, “Have a good trip, my dudes!” and high-tails it toward the exit. 

Cas watches distantly as the car—and any last hopes he’d had of escape—drives away, and just as he’s about to turn around and at least attempt to orient himself in the sea of people, he feels a rough tug on the strap of his bag.

Cas startles, pulling his bag closer to himself and staring at the man in front of him. He’s got a wheeled trolley stacked precariously high with suitcases, and grunts, gesturing toward Cas’ bag.

“Are you with the ship?”

The man looks at him, unamused, but before Cas can say anything else—or even demand who the hell this guy is—Gabe intervenes. “‘Course he’s with the ship!” he says, wrenching Cas’ bag out of his grip and shoving it towards the man. He reaches out and shakes the dude’s hand, as well, and Cas doesn’t miss the green flash of bills exchanging hands as he does so. He watches helplessly as the man hauls his bag toward the massive pile of luggage, tossing it into the heap without a second thought.

“Hey, try not to look like a _ total _ tourist, huh? Gabe asks, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go with the flow, baby bro.” He holds up a finger and grins. “Didja catch that? Regular Mark Twain over here.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Mark Twain didn’t write poetry.”

Gabe scoffs and waves his correction away. “Poems, not poems, they both have...words,” he says with a shrug. “One and the same in my book. Now let’s go explore those streets less traveled or whatever and get our asses onto that ship!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Room 1508,” Balthazar says, his eyes darting between the cabins and the slip of paper in his hand as they walk down the ship’s narrow halls. 

Getting onto the ship itself had been a bit of a clusterfuck, but now that they’re finally on board, Cas has to admit: it’s nice. The halls are lined with a plush red carpet and framed art pieces dot the walls, which are covered with a ritzy wallpaper. While most of the cabin doors they pass are blank, there are a few sporting white boards, balloons, and name tags (or some combination of all three).

It’s been easy enough to ignore the overly friendly staff who had greeted them as they embarked, and as they get closer to their cabin, Cas finds himself hoping they won’t be trapped next to a family with a screaming toddler, especially since he’s traveling with the equivalent of two of his own.

“Ah, here we are,” Balthazar finally says, tapping his ID card against the keypad bolted to a door. Their luggage is stacked neatly next to it, but Gabe bypasses it entirely, shoving past Balthazar and tossing his backpack onto the sofa bed before making a beeline for the door to the balcony. He throws it open and thrusts himself right up to the edge, spreading his arms wide and bellowing, “I’m king of the  _ wooooooorld! _ ”

“That’s not the right part of a ship to do that on, you wanker,” Balthazar says.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” Gabe shouts over his shoulder. “Get out of my fantasy.”

Balthazar rolls his eyes and closes the balcony door, flicking the lock in place before inspecting the rest of their tiny cabin. “Well, would you look at this,” he says, dropping his bag onto a bed and just barely missing the intricately folded towels shaped together to look like an elephant. “Quite the statement piece.”

“I like it,” Cas says, carefully scooping up the towels, being careful not to jostle them as he transfers the sculpture over to his own bed. He’s just set it down when Gabe starts banging on the balcony door to be let back in. 

“Come on, guys, I gotta piss.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to find your own Rose.”

The eldest Novak looks pleadingly at Cas through the glass, but just as Cas gets to his feet in a gesture of pity, Balthazar snaps his fingers and points at him.

“Leave it.”

Cas huffs. “I’m not a dog, Balthazar.”

His brother smiles crookedly at him. “Ah, but it made you stop, didn’t it?”

Gabe keeps pounding, glaring at them. “I will throw myself off this goddamn balcony!” he yells, pressing his face and the palms of his hands up against the glass.

“Have fun explaining that to the Coast Guard,” Balthazar replies cheerfully.

“It’s my  _ birthday _ , you fuckers!”

“Not yet, it’s not,” Cas says, and Balthazar looks at him with surprise.

“ _ Good _ , Cassie,” he says approvingly. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“I’m not admitting anything.”

“Just give it time,” Balthazar says, draping an arm across his shoulders and rubbing his upper arm encouragingly. “You’ll come to love it.”

They eventually have to let Gabe back into the room so they can all attend the required safety demonstration (which is just a half hour of everyone pretending they  _ wouldn’t _ shove old women off the side of the ship just to grab a spot in a lifeboat for themselves), then they make their way up to the main deck. Balthazar’s already got a drink in hand, taking full advantage of his unlimited-drink package, and the brothers take a few seconds to just stare at the controlled chaos that’s already erupted on board.

The entire ship is a party. It’s what Cas imagined fraternities to be like in college, all music and dancing and food and lust. People have wasted no time; they haven’t even left port yet and random dance competitions are breaking out on the main deck, kids are screaming in delight as they fly down the waterslides, people stumble past cradling cups of booze like first-born children.

Someone’s trying to shove something into his hands, and Cas looks down to see a plastic cup of beer in front of him. Gabe’s grinning at him, holding a cup of his own that’s already half-drained in his other hand, and waggles his eyebrows until Cas takes it. He raises it up in a toast, waiting for his brothers to do the same.

“Gentlemen,” he says after a moment of silence, downing the rest of his beer in one long gulp. “Let’s begin.”

As much as Cas is loathe to admit it, he  _ does _ have fun with his brothers. Balthazar teaches (or at least attempts to) him the basics of poker—”Just enough so you can avoid being an embarrassment”—and Gabe orders the three of them an entire ice cream cake infused with bourbon frosting. It’s a night full of drinks and parties and excess, and it, Cas is surprised to find, is exactly what he needed.

When he finally makes it back to their cabin around midnight, he’s surprised to find Gabe crouched down, meticulously taping a drawing of what Cas thinks is supposed to be in a pineapple onto their door. 

There are a ton of questions he could ask, but he decides to keep it simple with a quick, “Uh, why?” when his brother turns around.

“Nature’s party fruit,” Gabe says with a shrug and a smirk. “Lets people know we’re up for a good time.”

“What kind of good time?” Cas asks suspiciously.

Gabe winks. “Everybody loves pineapples, man. That’s all you need to know.”

Cas rolls his eyes and slides past his brother, stopping only to drop his keycard onto his bed before walking out to the balcony.

The relative silence he’s walked out into is a stark contrast to the noise and energy of the upper decks, and Cas closes his eyes as he listens to the ship slicing its way quietly through the water, waves lapping up against its sides. The sky and the ocean bleed into each other, both inky black and endless, and Cas leans on the railing, splaying his hands wide against the faint breeze playing off the water.

It feels almost blasphemous to take his phone out and snap a photo of the full moon in the distance, the way how, when he cranes his neck and leans off the side of the balcony, he can see the lights of other rooms along the ship glowing faintly against the water like twinkling stars. It wouldn’t do the scene anything close to justice, so he keeps it tucked away, spending the next few minutes before heading to bed disconnecting himself, listening to nothing.

It’s a nice feeling.

Bored and pleasantly buzzed, Cas climbs into bed and starts waiting for himself to fall asleep. Almost as an afterthought, he pulls out his phone and opens up the web browser, trying to work past the ship’s shitty wifi to type “pineapple cruise ship” into Google.

His eyes widen as he takes in the onslaught of images and webpages and words—the most important ones being “swingers” and “encourage” and “down to clown”—and he scrambles out of bed, practically throwing his phone across the room. 

“Gabe, get that pineapple off our fucking door!”

After an early-morning false alarm that he’d slept through half of his work day, it doesn’t take much—just an all-you-can-eat buffet, a nap in one of the hammocks in the 21+ area of the ship, and the ability to finish one of the library books he’d brought in one sitting—for Cas to decide that he could get used to this. 

Time doesn’t seem to be much of a concept onboard the ship; people do whatever they want, whenever they want. Nobody  _ cares _ , and for someone who’s an expert in caring too much, he’s surprised to find that he actually doesn’t mind the lack of structure.

He’s been on the ship for less than two days, and he already feels reenergized, like he could return to work and take on anything Naomi could think to throw at him. It’s a nice feeling, one Cas didn’t realize how much he needed.

It makes him think that he should probably thank Gabe and Balthazar for roping him into this trip in the first place.

_ Should _ being the key word. Whether or not he actually  _ will _ remains to be seen.

Maybe after another drink or two. But definitely not now.

As much as he’s enjoying being off the grid, he still finds himself yearning to use his phone for something other than listening to music, so on one of the rare occasions where neither Gabe nor Balthazar are hogging the WiFi, he logs on.

He wants to keep this relaxed vibe he’s riding on for as long as possible, so when he notices that the app for his work email already has notifications in the double digits, he taps on the icon, intending to clear a few of them out.

There are several emails from various coworkers, but Cas scrolls past them all, assuming they’re more of the same: dog videos and dad jokes and Vines from ten years ago that, despite any protestations to the contrary, haven’t gotten better with age.

His breath catches in his throat when he notices the message from Naomi, marked as “highly important.” In some weird kind of self-preservation mechanism, his eyes skip over the subject line, and he taps on the message itself with fingers he’d like to believe aren’t trembling.

_ Good morning Castiel, _

_ I’d like to extend my sincerest apologies for the ill timing, but after a careful review of departmental budgets and fiscal maps for the years ahead, I regret to inform you that, effective immediately, your status as an employee at MedicALL, Inc. has been terminated. Unfortunately, our... _

Cas stops reading after the second sentence. Partly because of the fucking email, and partly because that’s the minute when at least a dozen texts and Facebook messages from Hannah come pouring in.

Each one has some variation of a string of devastated emojis, a massive line of question marks, and all-caps  _ WHAT THE FUCK _ s and  _ I’M SO SORRY _ s and  _ ARE YOU OKAY _ s.

Cas would reply, but he’s not sure if he even knows the answer himself.

  
  


The rest of the night passes in a haze; it had been all he could do to keep himself together in the main hall after closing out his work email. He spends the afternoon in their cabin, staring blankly at the wall, then the TV, then out into the vastness of the ocean around him.

His world’s been ripped out from under him, and he’s not even on land to fucking defend it. He sighs, scrubbing his hands down over his face before looking back out at the horizon.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head. “What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.” He smacks his open hand down hard on the railing before burying his face in his arms. After a few moments, he cranes his neck back and gazes up at the bottom of the balcony above theirs. “Get it together, Castiel.”

As much as he spends the rest of the night trying to do just that, Cas still finds himself unconsciously making mental calculations of how much everything at dinner would cost if they were back on land, and how he absolutely won’t be able to afford a single piece of it anymore.

_ $25 for the lobster, $8.50 for the rum and Coke, at least $3.00 for the garlic bread that isn’t even that garlicky or just fucking  _ good _ in general— _

Someone’s snapping their fingers in front of his face, and Cas jerks out of his head to see his brothers staring at him.

“You all right?” Gabe asks, grabbing another piece of the shitty fucking garlic bread and stuffing it into his mouth.

“I’m fine.”

He barks out a laugh around the bread, almost sending a mouthful of it flying across the table into Cas’ face. “Hi, ‘Fine,’ I’m ‘Too Hungry and Not Nearly Drunk Enough for Your Bullshit.’” He sticks out a hand to shake and Cas bats it away.

“I’m not going to ruin the trip for you, too,” he says. That’s a mistake; now he’s just piqued their interest even more, and Cas wants to bury his face in his hands.

“You don’t have to get me a birthday present if you tell us what’s going on,” Gabe offers.

“I wasn’t going to get you one anyway.”

Gabe lets out a soft, scandalized gasp and leans back, hand pressed to his chest. “Well, fuck you, too.”

“Hey.” Balthazar tosses a small butter packet at Cas to get his attention. “We’re not daft...well,  _ I’m _ not. What’s going on?”

And suddenly Cas is twelve again, small and vulnerable and needing his older brothers. He twists his napkin in his lap before finally tossing it onto his empty plate. “I got fired,” he says, the entire sentence jammed into a single syllable. “I got the email this morning.”

Balthazar and Gabe look at him, faces blank. There’s a few seconds of silence punctuated by the conversations and clinking utensils of the guests around them, and then Balthazar holds up two fingers as their waitress passes by.

“Three dirty martinis, please.” He glances at the middle of the table, then quickly adds, “And a scorpion bowl.”

  
  


Three drinks and a third of scorpion bowl in, Cas is feeling...not good, exactly, but better. The alcohol has done its job, making his body warm and heavy and numb. He blinks slowly and savors every second his brothers spend shit-talking his former place of employment.

To their credit, his brothers don’t ask what he thinks happened, what might have gone wrong, something Cas can’t handle thinking about right now, or maybe ever. Instead, they remind him of all the panic attacks, sleepless nights, and missed holidays (“Seriously, you’re a writer, not a goddamn medic, you don’t need to miss Christmas Eve”) the job caused, and Cas finds the ache easing just a little bit.

Not enough to stop drinking, though.

Once they’ve outstayed their welcome in the dining room, the conversation shifts from Cas’ job—or lack thereof—to plans for the rest of the night.

“What’s next?” Balthazar asks, drumming his fingers on the table as he drains the rest of his glass. “Late-night swim? A round of mini golf? Oh, I know—” he snaps his fingers, “—what about one of those godawful stage shows? Nothing cures the unemployed blues like a good dose of secondhand embarrassment.” 

Cas smiles in spite of himself, but shakes his head. “I might just go walk around the deck for a bit before bed.”

Balthazar and Gabe study him for a few seconds, and Gabe raps his knuckles against the table. “Stay away from the railings, bucko. See you both tomorrow.” He salutes and heads out of the restaurant, more than likely trying to find some karaoke or disco party.

Cas will never not be surprised that there are more than one of each of those every night on this ship.

Cas expects Balthazar to make some excuse about needing to get to a gambling table, so he’s surprised when his brother stays seated. He reaches over for Gabe’s abandoned drink and drains it, setting it back down on the table with a sigh.

“Listen,” he finally says, and Cas is surprised by the seriousness of his voice. “You know this isn’t your fault, yes?”

Cas opens his mouth to respond, but quickly realizes that he doesn’t know what to say.

“Well, if you don’t, I’m telling you now. As much as I enjoy giving you a hard time, Castiel, you’re my brother. I know when you’re beating yourself up about something, and right now, you’re practically unconscious.”

Cas hesitates, then asks suspiciously, “Is there something you want?” 

Balthazar throws his head back and laughs. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “Just cutting to the chase that you shouldn’t spend the rest of the night sulking and berating yourself for something that’s not even your fault.” He pauses, then adds, “Am I close? Does that about sum up what your plans for the evening were going to be, little brother?”

Cas chuckles humorlessly, then looks up at him. “Thank you,” he says quietly. 

Balthazar’s face softens and he gets to his feet, rests a hand on Cas’ shoulder, and squeezes roughly. “Prove me wrong, Cassie.”

  
  


Cas is a big proponent of the “learn something new every day” concept, and today, he’s learned that it’s more difficult to berate himself when he’s drinking, so that’s what he sticks to. There’s no shortage of bars on the ship, each one with its own specific theme and specialty drink to offer, and Cas decides to take advantage of every single one.

The first place he stumbles upon is called Alchemy, a tiny spot tucked in between a couple of dance halls. It’s not too crowded, only a handful of patrons scattered along the bar, and Cas takes a seat near the end.

He grabs a menu and starts looking through it, more out of habit than anything, and is taken by surprise when its pages light up in his hands. Each page is illuminated by some kind of weird backlight, and the trippiness is doing no favors for Cas’ alcohol-fuzzed mind.

“Hey, man. What can I get ya?”

He looks up into the eyes of the bartender, who, in all honesty, just pisses Cas off more. The man is more attractive than anyone has the fucking right to be, all striking green eyes and full lips and a jawline that could cut glass. Of course Cas would start off the night in the bar of the most attractive bartender on the entire ship. Of fucking course.

“I, uh…” He trails off, trying and failing miserably to pull himself together in front of the bartender, who looks a little more bemused than he did five seconds ago. Cas clears his throat, places both palms flat on the counter, and says as confidently as he can, “One Rhode Island Iced Tea. Please.”

The bartender’s eyes narrow, the edges of his mouth quirk up slightly, and he shakes his head. He turns around to start rooting through the bar for the ingredients to make Cas’ drink but whirls back to face him again almost immediately.

“Yeah, no.”

Cas furrows his brows together. “I’m sorry? Do you need some ID? I—” He automatically starts digging into his pocket, fumbling for his license. He hasn’t been carded since college, but he’s not above the compliment that he looks under 21, even if the man is just doing the bare minimum not to be fired.

It’s nice that there’s at least one person on this goddamn ship who can manage that.

The bartender leans down on his elbows, hands folded. “I can’t with you, man,” he says. Cas’ teeth catch on his bottom lip as he fixates on the delicate bones of the man’s wrists and the way they contrast with the muscles of his upper arms straining against his shirt. When he finally drags his eyes up, the man’s smirking at him, face an odd mixture of amusement and pity. “Run that by me again.”

“What—”

“Your order.”

“I don’t—”

“What you want.”

Cas stares at the man, his brows furrowed together. “I just wanted a Rh—ah, shit.”

The bartender throws his head back and laughs before grabbing the different bottles needed to make Cas’ drink. His fingers are quick and nimble as he works, pouring all the different kinds of alcohol together smoothly, like some kind of boozy mad scientist. “Rhode Island Iced Tea,” he mutters with a smirk, shaking his head again as he adds a splash of Coke to the mixture and garnishes it with a lemon wedge.

“It’s been a long day,” Cas says by way of explanation as the man slides the glass towards him.

“‘S all right,” he says with a one-shouldered shrug. “Needed the laugh. And I’m assuming, based on that reaction, that you needed the drink.”

Cas purses his lips. “More than you know,” he says, before his cheeks go red. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear about my problems.”

The bartender leans forward on his elbows and flashes him that stupidly crooked grin again. “Uh, bartender,” he says, pointing at himself. “Countertop therapist is sort of in the job description. Just today, I’ve heard about three divorces, some fucking ridiculous roommate drama,  _ and _ a couple who were both cheating on each other without realizing it.” He purses his lips. “That one actually ended up working itself out, though.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth quirks up into a small smile before he can think about it. “I’m glad someone’s having a good day, then.”

The bartender had been mixing another drink while talking with him, but at that, he sets down the glass and shaker and fixes Cas with a look that has Cas focusing on the bartop.

“You okay, man?”

Cas takes a long pull of his drink before answering, “No. Yes. Fine. No, I’m fine. Sorry, you’re busy. I’m just going to—”

The bartender’s eyes don’t leave him. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, Cas grabs his drink and leaves the bar, trying to ignore the way he can feel the bartender’s eyes on his back.

  
  


The rest of the night passes in a slow blur as Cas keeps trying to process what his life’s come to. He’s on his sixth drink—none of which were as good as the Long Island Iced Tea he’d gotten at Alchemy, or served by anyone nearly as attractive as that particular green-eyed bartender—and he heads over to the railing, gazing out at the way the inky blackness of the water and sky blend seamlessly together.

It’s got to be late, not many people are out on the deck or in the hot tubs, and Cas takes a minute to revel in the relative silence of everything. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back a little, opening his eyes again to stare up at the sky.

He shouldn’t be this upset. He knows he shouldn’t be, but every time he thinks about it, a spark of panic flares in his gut that makes him want to spend the rest of the cruise in the fetal position under a deck chair.

How the hell is he going to support himself?

What’s he going to eat?

What if he gets evicted?

What if he has to move back in with his parents?

What if he has to move in with  _ Gabe? _ Or  _ Balthazar _ ?

“Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. He grips the rail with both hands and leans back, letting his arms go taut as he balances on the balls of his feet.  _ Go to bed, Cas _ , he tells himself as he rights himself again and starts back toward the inside of the ship.  _ Things will look better tomorrow, you don’t have to have it all figured out now, there’s nothing for you to do but— _

“Hey. Rhode Island Iced Tea.”

Cas freezes, then slowly turns back toward the deck. There’s a couple nearby making out on a lounge chair—not them, then—and a man sprawled out in the hot tub closest to him, who raises his hand and offers a halfhearted wave. Cas takes a few steps closer and squints against the darkness until he feels like the deck’s dropped out from under him.

The bartender from Alchemy. 

His cheeks go hot, and he considers ending the conversation before it’s even started, going back to the room and burying himself in blankets and soft serve ice cream for the rest of the night. He doesn’t need anymore rejection or humiliation tonight, but for some reason, he still finds himself opening his mouth to talk. 

What the hell. How much worse could tonight possibly get; may as well give the people a show as he goes down in flames.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that,” Cas says, returning the wave as he approaches the hot tub. The man’s got his arms stretched out along the tile and flashes him a lazy smile.

“I never forget a stupid drink order,” he says. He narrows his eyes, not bothering to hide the way they run up and down Cas’ body before adding, “Or a pretty face.”

Cas hopes it isn’t obvious how much his cheeks are burning. He clears his throat uncomfortably and sits down on the tile floor, slipping off his flip-flops and dipping his feet into the water while trying to ignore the fact that he’d managed to sit directly in the middle of a puddle. 

“What’re you doing out so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” It’s not  _ technically _ a lie, Cas decides, reaching a hand down toward the hot tub and letting his fingers skim along the surface of the water. “What about you?” 

“Stress relief,” he says simply, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back against the tile, exposing the long column of his throat. He cracks open one eye and glances at Cas before adding, “You people are high maintenance.”

Cas opens his mouth to protest, but he thinks back to the few interactions he’d had with his fellow passengers, all seeming demanding, impatient, and quick to anger, and thinks better of it. 

“Fair,” he says, and the bartender laughs. 

“Fuckin’ right.” He closes his eyes for a few more seconds, then sticks his hand up toward Cas, offering it in a shake. “Dean.”

Cas scoots closer to him and returns the shake. Dean’s hand is warm and still a little damp from the water, and heat shoots up Cas’ arm when his fingers close around Cas’ hand. “Cas. I appreciate you not laughing at me too hard about the drink thing.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” Dean says. “I laughed plenty.”

They sit in silence for a moment, Cas dragging his fingers lightly through the water while Dean stares up at the stars, until Dean clears his throat. “So, why’d you need that drink so bad?”

“Someone can’t have a drink while they’re on vacation?”

Dean shrugs. “Sure they can, but if I remember right, you needed it, ‘More than you know.’” He says the last four words in a terrible impression of Cas’ voice, scratchy and rough, and for the first time, Cas understands why his sister spent the majority of their adolescent years teasing him about sounding like he was gargling rocks. 

“I don’t really sound like that, do I?” he asks, touching two fingers to his throat.

“Don’t change the subject.” He scoops his hand into the water and splashes Cas a little. “Spill.”

Cas could just leave. Hell, he  _ should _ . He doesn’t owe Dean anything, what’s going on is none of his business. But something about the way Dean’s looking at him, completely attentive and serious, makes him in the mood to overshare.

It could also be the booze, but the first option makes him feel like less of a trash fire, so he decides to run with it. 

He sucks in a breath through his teeth and gets it over with quickly. “Got fired. Lost my job.”

Dean winces. “On vacation?”

“Apparently.”

“That’s tough, dude. I’m sorry.” He pauses, then adds, “I’ll tell ya, though, that’s why you never get the WiFi package here. Expensive as shit, and only gives you access to bad news.”

Cas looks at him flatly. “Because buyer’s remorse is exactly what I need right now, thank you.” It’s his turn to splash Dean, who holds his hands up in a mock display of surrender, but doesn’t try to hide his grin.

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about hitting that post-vacation depression, just...you know, the, uh, the regular kind.” His voice trails off as he finishes the sentence, and Cas watches him cringe at his own words.

“You’re  _ excellent _ at making shitty people feel even shittier,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that? So, so good. The best.”

Dean ignores the sloppy barb, asking instead, “What was your job?”

“Dunno why tha’s—”

“Tell me about it, and I’ll make it sound shitty.” When Cas just stares at him, Dean clarifies, “My ability to make things shitty doesn’t stop at people. C’mon, it’ll make you feel better.”

And then he fucking  _ winks _ , and Cas has to suddenly pretend to become extremely interested in anything but Dean’s perfectly symmetrical, perfectly proportioned, perfectly infuriating face.

“I worked at a stupid medical supply company,” he finally says. “Writing stupid copy for their stupid catalogs.”

Dean purses his lips, considering this carefully. “Sounds pretty stupid,” he says with a grin. He twists around to face Cas fully and rests an elbow on the edge of the hot tub before continuing, “So, gimme a day in the life of a med supply catalog copywriter. And don’t skimp on any of the juicy details.”

_ Where to start _ , he thinks. “I wrote copy for each item in the catalog and on the website, kept everything updated, and making sure the editorial style is consistent all the way through.” Dean has the decency to feign being impressed, and Cas adds, “I can also tell you anything you need to know about bedpans.”

Dean lets out a low whistle and chuckles. “Shit, you use that line on all the guys?”

“Is it working?”

Cas’ eyes go about as wide as Dean’s as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

“How many of those Iced Teas you have earlier, man?” he asks with a smirk as Cas claps both hands over his mouth.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“Relax, man,” Dean says, waving him off. “’s a compliment.” 

Cas can feel his cheeks burning, and he prays that it’s dark enough for Dean not to notice. He knows the whole conversation itself is a joke, but remembering the way Dean had looked at him when he first approached, he’s not sure if the initial flirtation is supposed to be.

And if he’s being honest, that’s what freaks him out more than anything else. 

In what Cas considers a huge gesture of mercy on his part, Dean steers the conversation back toward their original topic. “How many products does this place sell?”

Cas scrunches his mouth up to one side of his face. “A lot.”

Dean nods slowly. “Jesus.” There’s just a hint of forced wonder in his voice, and Cas kind of fucking loves him for it.

“There were three of us,” Cas continues, holding up three fingers (then quickly glancing at them to make sure they were  _ actually _ three). “Three of us to go through tens’a’thousands’a products. Us and the designers, I don’t remember the last time any of us didn’t stay late. Two hours, miminum.”

Dean’s eyes sparkle in the light of the hot tub as he fails to stifle a laugh, and this time, it’s Cas’ turn to splash some water at him. “What’re you laughing at?” he says. “‘S not funny!”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head despite that stupid crooked grin still on his face. “Not at all. Humor here’s at the bare miminum.”

Cas wrinkles his nose, then says, “It’s pronounced ‘minimum.’”

“Yeah, I know, you just…” Dean trails off, apparently giving his attempt at explanation up as a lost cause before waving the words away and rolling his eyes. “Never mind. Keep going.”

Cas eyes him suspiciously, but continues. “Dunno why I even stayed there for so long. Lots’a people didn’t even last a year.”

“How long were you there?” Cas holds up both hands, and Dean does a terrible job at hiding the shock that flits across his face. “Ten years? They fired you after ten goddamn  _ years _ ?”

“Seems that way.”

He worries the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, then asks, “Remember how, earlier, I said your job sounded stupid?”

“Mhmm.”

“I take that back. It’s not just stupid, it’s shitty as hell.”

Cas shakes his head. “It wasn’t that ba—”

The look Dean gives him shuts him up almost immediately. “Nope, nope,” he says. “Listen, I’ve had my share of shitty jobs, okay? I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”

Cas opens his mouth to respond, still feeling obligated to defend his former employer for whatever goddamn reason, as if he still owes them anything, but finds that he’s at a loss for words. Dean takes advantage of that to issue a challenge: “Fine. If it’s so great, tell me your proudest moment from working there.”

There’s no hesitation when he answers; he’s almost as proud of this moment as he was when an employee at his local post office told him his handwriting was perfect, and would go through the machine without a hitch. “I got in a fight with a project manager once about whether or not ‘anti-slip’ had a hyphen in it,” Cas says somberly, drawing a tiny hyphen in the air in front of him. “It does, by the way.”

Dean stares at him. “You threw punches over punctuation?”

Cas hesitates, then taps his temple and points at Dean before adding, “In my mind.”

Once he’s fully wrapped his head around this response, Dean throws his head back and laughs, a loud, raucous sound that makes Cas smile and look down at his feet through the hot tub’s bubbles. “Remind me not to fuck with you, Grammar Police.”

Cas looks up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused, and his smile gets a little wider. For the first time since he’d left for this trip, he’s starting to feel, not comfortable, but relaxed. Content. Something he never thought he’d be a few short hours after being fired.

_ Fired, fired, he was fired... _

A new thought slams into him with enough force that Cas almost bodily reacts. “I’m probably still on the website,” he realizes suddenly, burying his face in his hands. He startles back when water splashes up in his face—he’d forgotten that he’d had his hands resting in the hot tub just seconds before—and closes his eyes, trying to keep it together as droplets slide down his cheeks. “Fucking  _ shit _ .”

“Uh,  _ what _ ?” Dean’s voice is incredulous, and Cas opens his eyes again, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes before resting his chin in his damp hands.

“I’m on the website,” he repeats glumly. “It was a small company, so we didn’t have all the money in the world for photoshoots. Sometimes they’d ask us to be in them.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly when he says, “So you did.”

“Well, I didn’ wanna get  _ fired _ ,” Cas says as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world. “And  _ that _ obviously worked out  _ supergreat _ .”

“Fuck ‘em, they don’t deserve you,” Dean says quickly. “But listen, you’re tellin’ me that I can go on this company’s website and see you Vanna White-ing fuckin’...hospital johnnys?”

“That wasn’t one of our top sellers, but—”

“But I could.”

“Among other things.”

Dean’s jaw slowly drops open, the corners of his mouth curling into a delighted little smile that has Cas torn between wanting to kiss him and punch him in the face. 

“Don’t give me that look.”

“Oh, I’ll give you any look I goddamn want,” he says. “Where’d you work? What was the name of this goddamn mecca?”

Normally, Cas would have his guard up, make up an answer to this slightly invasive question, but tonight proved long ago that it’d be anything but normal. “MedicALL. Because we sold medical supplies...for all. Like Oprah.” Cas stretches his arms wide, then starts pointing at random parts of the deck, punctuating the movements with, “ _ You _ get a bedpan,  _ you _ get a bedpan,  _ you _ get a bedpan!”

“Shit, with marketing skills like that, you sure they didn’t mean to make you head of PR?”

“The head of PR is the owner’s brother-in-law,” Cas says somberly, shaking his head. He doesn’t know why he’s acting so sad; he used to say that he’d rather be unemployed than have Frank Devereaux’s job, a claim that...hasn’t exactly aged well since Cas first made it.

Dean doesn’t even have to say anything in response: the look in his eye is enough for Cas to know that he gets it. And there’s something reassuring about that, so much so that Cas finds himself spending the next few minutes digging deep into ten years of grudges. He tells Dean about the low pay and the 60-plus hour work weeks without overtime and the goddamn keychain flashlights they got for a Christmas bonus last year. Dean is quiet throughout the whole tirade, and when Cas is finally done talking, he realizes just how much he’d actually spilled.

“But none of that’s your problem,” he says sheepishly. “An’ you’re not even at work, so you can’t use the countertop therapist excuse again.”

Dean grins. “Wasn’t gonna.” He shifts in the hot tub so that he’s got one leg tucked under his body, and looks at Cas seriously. “Doesn’t sound like they deserved you, man.”

“Y’jus’ saying that,” Cas mumbles, skimming the water with his hand again. “They gave me a break after college. I got my foot in the door—”

“Hey.” Dean smacks Cas lightly on the arm, and Cas looks at him. “I’m not lyin’. Bigger and better things, right? You’re too good for fucking bedpans and shit. Literally. I know it sucks now, but you’ll find something better.”

Dean’s smile is small, but it has Cas’ heart racing. 

“On that note, though, I gotta get headin’. Breakfast shift tomorrow, and we don’t need two fired assholes on this boat.” 

He winks, bracing his hands on the edge of the hot tub as he starts to pull himself up and out of the water. Cas can’t drag his eyes away; Dean might as well be moving in slow motion, and Cas licks his lips unconsciously as he stands. It had been an understatement for him to think that Dean’s got a pretty face, because now, when he sees his chest, his torso, the bow of his legs, he quickly realizes how off-base he was.

Dean’s just got a pretty everything.

Cas watches as he lets himself drip off for a minute before sliding his feet into a worn pair of flip flops and knotting his towel around his waist. “I like you,” he blurts out, eyes big and serious.

Dean’s mouth quirks up into a crooked, surprised little grin. “Yeah?” When Cas nods, Dean adds, “Likewise.” As he makes for the short set of stairs to exit the hot tub area, he drops a hand to Cas’ shoulder. “Wait ‘til you’re back from vacation before you start looking for a new gig, huh? Let yourself live a little.”

Cas nods dumbly, eyes still locked on Dean, who runs a hand through his wet hair, adding to its messy spikiness, and grins. 

“See ya around, Rhode Island Iced Tea.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You look ridiculous.”

Gabe studies himself in the mirror for a few more seconds. He’s wearing a light violet three-piece suit and matching tophat, with a dark purple pocket square and matching shoes. He tips his hat at his own reflection before shaking his head. “Jealousy is _ not _ a good look on you,” he says, glancing at Cas in the mirror.

Cas drops onto the bed and plays with the bottom of his deep blue tie, watching Gabe continue to preen over himself in the mirror while Balthazar pulls himself together in the bathroom, shrugging into his dark navy suit jacket.

_ The color of that jacket would really bring out Dean’s eyes. _

Cas shakes his head as his cheeks go hot in embarrassment, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to will himself to stop thinking about Dean’s eyes, Dean’s laugh, Dean’s smile—just, _ Dean _. He hasn’t even seen the guy since that night at the hot tub, but on a ship teeming with distractions, the man and his ridiculous perfection won’t leave Cas’ mind.

He forces Dean’s crooked grin out of his head—which isn’t _ too _ hard; it’s the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose that really won’t leave Cas alone—when he hears Gabe slam a drawer closed as he continues putting the finishing touches on his outfit for the night.

“It’s a dinner, not a beauty pageant,” he says.

“Easy for you to say,” Gabe says, focusing on adjusting his tie in the mirror. “You think Crocs with socks is a valid fashion choice, little bro.”

Cas rolls his eyes. It’s no surprise that his brother would pounce on any chance he could get to break out even the tiniest piece of his eccentric wardrobe collection that’d fit in better at a costume party than in real life, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

At least he didn’t insist they all had to be matching.

Cas’ own suit is plain black. It still smells like church—the last time he wore it was for their grandmother’s funeral three years ago. When he first pulled it out of his suitcase, Balthazar had asked him if he was paying respects to the death of his career.

Cas had flipped him off.

Finally, Balthazar emerges from the bathroom, and Cas has to physically resist the urge to roll his eyes when he notices the monocle balanced precariously in front of his brother’s right eye.

Balthazar knocks on the wall and smiles broadly. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

After a quick detour for Balthazar to refill his prosecco (“It’s mind-boggling to me that you two didn’t spring for the unlimited drink package. _ Mind _-boggling”), they turn down a window-lined hallway that leads to the restaurant. When Cas looks up, his eyes widen and his heart sinks simultaneously. The entire hall is full of stations featuring elaborate backdrops and props, a dedicated photographer ready and waiting at each. Their fellow cruisers are milling around, whispering excitedly with each other before stopping to get their photos taken at each one.

“Uh, _ no _.” He’s about to turn tail and order goddamn room service—he’s nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this—when Gabe, who so clearly knew about this part of the evening beforehand, slings an arm across his shoulders and tugs him in close.

“Uh, _ yes _.”

“Pretty women taking photos of him in his elegant wear. It’s his wet dream,” Balthazar says, watching with an amused expression as Cas adjusts his tie nervously.

“Come on, boys. For my birthday?”

“You knew about this, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t _ not _ know.” Gabe smiles widely, flashing his best pleading eyes at Cas, who closes his own and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I hate you,” he finally says through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Gabe says pleasantly, and starts walking.

Cas keeps his eyes down as they walk—if he avoids eye contact, they’ll leave him alone; it’s the same tactic he uses to avoid the people who work at mall kiosks—but of course, the split second he glances up, he just has to catch the gaze of the redheaded woman—the nametag pinned to her shirt is covered in stickers and reads “Charlie”—in front of the station they’re passing.

It looks like something straight out of a direct-to-video 80s movie: there’s a tacky marble pattern printed on the backdrop, with a large piano positioned in the middle, sparsely decorated with fake roses and martini glasses.

“Hey, guys,” she says brightly, holding up the camera slung around her neck and nodding toward the backdrop. “Sing me a song, hug?”

“Fuck _ yes _. The camera loves us, baby!” Gabe says, herding a stunned Cas and slightly tipsy Balthazar toward the station, then looks at the photographer and nods eagerly for their next direction.

“So what’ve we got here?” she asks, clapping her hands and rubbing them together. “Dads? Friends? Brothers? A whole gaggle of boyfriends?”

Cas’ eyes go wide at that, and she raises her hands in placation. “Just covering all the bases, dude, relax.”

“Brothers,” Balthazar says cheerily, raising his glass. 

“Hmm.” She rests her chin between her thumb and index finger, studying them with renewed interest. “All right,” she finally says, grabbing Cas’ wrist and pulling him toward the set. “You’re here, Elton John.” She drops him down onto the piano bench and mimes playing.

Cas sits uncomfortably, letting his fingers rest stiffly on the keys. Elton John. Something about the way she’d so easily given him a nickname makes him pause, but he can’t place why.

“You look fun,” she says to Gabe.

“Sure am, sweetie.”

“Don’t call me ‘sweetie,’ tough guy.” Balthazar snorts into his drink as he tries not to laugh when Gabe seems to physically deflate at the retort. 

When Charlie pats the top of the piano with a simple “Here,” though, all of Gabe’s energy comes rearing back. He hops onto the piano and sprawls out across the lid, lying on his side and tucking himself up on his elbow. His eyes dart around for a second before he snatches one of the fake roses out of the vase in front of Cas and clamps it between his teeth.

“Paint me like one of your French girls,” he mumbles around the stem.

Cas’ cheeks burn with secondhand embarrassment. “Do you have any idea how many mouths have probably been on that stem?”

Gabe tugs the flower out of his mouth and pretends to sniff it. “Do you have any idea how much I don’t care?”

Cas stares at him. Maybe Balthazar had had the right idea with the unlimited drink package, after all.

Oblivious to Gabe’s obscene hygiene violation—or just used to blocking that particular action out—Charlie gestures for Balthazar to lean against the piano, legs crossed at the ankles, “Looking classy.”

“Always do, my dear.” He grabs a glass and tips it over, looking more shocked than Cas thinks he should when he realizes it’s fake, too. Cas hears him mutter something about false advertising as he leans on the piano.

“Trust me, man,” Charlie says, squinting into the camera’s viewfinder before pulling back and tilting her head to the side to look at them, “if that was real, I would’ve downed it two hours ago.”

Gabe glances up at Cas from his position on the piano and puckers his lips up in an air kiss. “I’ll throw you off this piano,” Cas threatens. Charlie snaps her fingers in front of them, trying to wrangle their attention like a pack of puppies, and Cas turns toward her.

“On three,” she says, and Cas sighs before forcing his mouth into a smile as he looks over at his brothers. “One, two…” 

_ Flash _.

It’s not fun, but it’s not unbearable, either, and the more stations they approach, the less Cas finds himself giving a shit. 

They take turns pretending to be kings of the world, striking Leo’s iconic pose on a _ Titanic _ railing that’s definitely seen better days. 

Then there’s the backdrop coated in gold and silver glitter (Cas is pretty sure some of it flaked off and landed in his hair).

They each sprawl out across a fake marble bench that looks like it was plucked right out of the outdoor craft aisle of Michael’s, before the photographer tries to cram all three of them onto it at once.

It’s bad enough that Gabe makes them stop at every single one, but as it gets closer to dinner, more and more people start filing through, which means there are more and more people to stare at them and laugh as they make fools out of themselves for some overpriced fucking pictures.

Finally, they’ve reached the end of the gauntlet of photos, and there’s nothing between Cas and an order of lobster and a slab of chocolate fudge cake. 

“I feel so _ alive _!” Gabe trills, pumping both fists in the air like he’s just finished a marathon. 

“I’m glad someone got something out of it,” Cas mutters.

“Hey, what do you think I should wear for the next elegant night?” Gabe asks Balthazar, punching him in the upper arm. “Leopard tie or jacket? Or _ both _...”

“It’s appalling that you have _ either _ of those things.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Gabe and Balthazar keep arguing as they continue forward toward the restaurant, and as Cas grapples with the fact that he’ll have to deal with another one of these things—

_ I wonder if Dean ever takes the photos _ . Cas freezes mid-step and blinks. With a quick shake of his head, he dismisses the thought and runs his hands down his tie. _ Stop it _. Why would he want Dean to see him like this, posed and forced and awkwardly taking photos like some kind of pageant star?

_ Because Dean wouldn’t make him feel embarrassed. Because Dean would tell him the camera loves him even though he knows it doesn’t. Because Dean said he likes him, too. _

Cas doesn’t even have to work hard to picture Dean, legs splayed just so as he squints through the camera’s viewfinder, adjusting his stance to find that one perfect shot. Dean’s probably a perfectionist, Cas has decided. He snaps a few photos, then Charlie pops up and offers to take a picture of the two of them together. Cas wants to say no, or at least protest, but before he can, Dean’s already shoving the camera into her hands and heading toward him.

They’re both sitting on that stupid fake marble bench that’s too small for two grown men to share, and Cas is taking special care not to let his body touch Dean’s. Dean’s got other ideas, though, knocking their knees together with casual ease. He’s talking about something, but Cas can’t register anything other than the fact that Dean’s _ lips _.

There’s nothing else, really. Just the fact that lips like his exist. He watches the way they move as he talks, the way his tongue pokes out to wet them, and Cas wants to know how they’d feel pressed against his own, along his neck and jaw and—

“Jesus,” Cas breathes, shaking his head again and running a hand through his hair before picking up the pace to catch up with his brothers.

Cas manages to keep his lovesick impulses in control for the majority of dinner, but once the three brothers head off toward their respective evening escapades, Cas isn’t especially surprised—maybe a little disappointed in himself and his lack of inner strength, sure, but not _ surprised _—to find himself at Alchemy once again.

There’s some kind of social event going on so the bar is buzzing with people drinking and talking. It doesn’t take Cas long to catch a glimpse of Dean behind the bar, doling out drinks and closing out tabs as fast as he can.

When Dean finally looks up with a long exhale, his cheeks are flushed, eyes a little frantic, but when he notices Cas, it’s like a switch goes off. His face breaks into a smile that, if Cas had a bit more self-confidence, he would almost describe as excited. He snaps his fingers and shoots a single finger gun at him, then mouths “One second” before darting off into the back room.

There’s a seat open in the corner of the bar, and Cas makes a beeline for it. He grabs a menu and starts to flip through it, more out of habit than anything else, and jerks back, startled, when a hand holding a piece of computer paper slams down over the illuminated page. 

“What—” His head shoots up and he comes face-to-face with Dean, still grinning, only this time with a bit more of a twinkle in his eye.

“If you could make it out to Dean, that’d be great.”

Cas narrows his eyes as Dean’s smile widens. His hand is splayed over the entire sheet of paper, and Cas swallows down the little spark of warmth he feels as he nudges Dean’s hand to the side.

The second he gets a glimpse of it, he smacks his hand back over the paper and snaps his head up, staring at Dean with wide, mortified eyes. The sheer _ glee _ in Dean’s face is enough to start ebbing away any anger Cas might have been starting to feel, but the embarrassment is still there in full force. 

His own face is staring back up at him, a forced smile on his lips as he holds tight to a device that looks too much like a stripper pole, running from floor to ceiling, to pull himself up and out of bed. He remembers it too well, one of MedicALL’s best sellers meant to help the elderly get themselves out of bed without assistance, and one of the products they didn’t have much of a budget to shoot with.

“What—did you—how did you find this?”

“You told me about it,” he says before nodding toward a woman sitting a few seats away. “Refill?”

“I told you where I _ worked _, not what product I modeled,” Cas says, slowly coming to terms with the fact that Dean thought about him outside of their conversation, even if it was just for a joke.

Dean shrugs, busying himself with preparing another drink for the woman. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. What the hell else am I supposed to do during my free time? The shows get boring after a while, y’know. And plus, I think I got something great out of it. So,” he continues, changing the subject and gesturing at Cas’ outfit, “where you off to tonight, Dapper Dan?”

Cas’ cheeks go red, and he looks down at the photo of himself (which only makes things worse) before replying, “Elegant night.”

Dean snaps his fingers. “Forgot about that. Fuckin’ sucked, taking those pictures.”

And Cas’ heart absolutely does _ not _ stutter at that. “You’ve done it before? Taken the pictures?”

“Most of us rotate through it. You didn’t expect a professional photographer to be takin’ your cheesy future Christmas cards, didja?” he asks with a lopsided smile.

“No, I guess not.” 

“Y’know, crew gets access to all the pictures taken every night,” Dean says casually, and Cas’ stomach flips at the idea of Dean seeing the goddamn fool he’d made of himself just a few hours earlier. It’s almost worse than the fact that he’s already seen the stupid photo sitting on the countertop between them.

Almost.

“No you don’t,” he says, more of a plea than an actual declaration.

Dean’s face stays completely serious for an agonizingly long few seconds before he smirks. “Nah, we don’t. They _ do _ get broadcast around the ship, though.”

Cas laughs, a sound that rises and dies in his throat when Dean doesn’t join him. “Wh—really?”

Dean nods. “On the wall near the gift shop. Corporate likes to put ‘em up to show what a great time y’all are having, but it’s really more of a wall of shame than anything else.”

“Oh. Perfect.” Cas nods to himself, then gets to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an entire wall to destroy.”

And there goes Cas trying to build up his minimal self-confidence again, because for a second, he swears Dean actually looks a little disappointed that he’s leaving. He covers it quickly, though, and waves Cas down. “Hey, hey, hey, you just gonna leave me hangin’ here?” he asks, gesturing down to the photo.

Cas stares at him. “You were serious?”

In response, Dean just pushes the photo forward with a single finger, and Cas bites his lip.

“I don’t have a p—”

Dean reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a Sharpie, and brandishes it at Cas, his eyes sparkling. Cas looks at him uncertainly as he takes the marker and uncaps it. Finally, he decides on something and scribbles it across the photo before recapping the marker, pushing them both back toward Dean, and promptly getting up and leaving before Dean sees him spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

Dean’s laugh rings out from the bar, and Cas smiles down at his feet, cheeks flushed, as he forces himself not to look back. _ He _ did that, he made Dean laugh with arguably the stupidest thing he’s ever written or thought.

_ To Dean—stay nauti. Castiel Novak. _

* * *

It would be bad enough if Cas was still being haunted by his stupid inscription from last night—did he come off too strong? Was Dean just being nice? What the fuck was he thinking in the first place, anyway?—but add on the secondhand embarrassment he feels as Gabe tries to sweet-talk the hostess into getting them a corner table for his birthday, and he’d be perfectly happy just throwing himself into a lifeboat and making a beeline back to shore.

The hostess, a slim blonde with a nametag that reads “Jo” and a face that screams _ I don’t give a shit _, listens to Gabe prattle on for another minute before finally snatching up some menus, muttering something about not being paid enough for this, and leading them over to a corner table. 

“Thanks, doll,” Gabe says, smiling widely as he pulls out a chair and sits down. 

Jo shoots him an icy look. “Enjoy,” she says, scooping up the little _ RESERVED _ table tent and not really trying to hide her eyeroll as she walks away.

“All right,” Gabe says, flourishing his napkin with a flick of his wrist and laying it across his lap, “Blondie clearly wasn’t into me, so who’d you gents have to fuck to get us this kind of treatment, huh?”

Cas chokes on his water and presses a fist to his chest, coughing. His brothers glance at each other and make a split-second decision as Cas tries to pull himself together.

“Cassie, you _ dog _,” Balthazar says, eyes lit up in delight. He leans forward and stares at Cas intently. “Is it the steward?”

“The st—_ no _!”

Balthazar purses his lips. “Right, he’s much too old for you, isn’t he,” he muses. Cas can tell he’s running through every staff member they’ve interacted with, and he’s momentarily calmed down by the fact that he’s only been to Alchemy alone. There’s no way he’d know who Dean is; he’s safe, at least for the time being.

As Cas tries to reassure himself of the fact that his secret will stay that way, their waiter approaches the table and greets them. “Hi, welcome to The Restaurant,” the waiter says quickly, passing out menus without looking up, and Cas nearly falls out of his chair when he hears his voice. “My name’s Dean, I’ll be takin’ care of ya. What’ll you have for drinks?”

When he finally does look up, it’s right at Cas, and his face softens immediately. 

“Hello, Dean.”

One side of Dean’s mouth quirks up in a grin, and he nods his chin toward him. “Cas. Long time, no see, huh?”

Before Cas can respond, another waiter pops up behind Dean and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Seventeen’s still waiting for their appetizer,” he says, barely loud enough for Cas to overhear.

Dean nods tightly, and once the waiter leaves, Cas asks, “Busy night?”

“Sure,” Dean says absently, shrugging one shoulder and taking a second to get himself together.

“Then we’ll make it easy for you, pallie,” Balthazar says, tapping Dean’s elbow with his menu. “Three Moscow mules. And some lobster rangoons.”

“Good taste,” he says with a grin. He scribbles a note down in his pad and hurries off. He’s not gone for more than three seconds when Balthazar, eyes gleaming with curiosity, pounces on his newest theory.

“Oh, _ that’s _ him, isn’t it?”

Cas tries to brush it off by giving Balthazar a look like he’s grown three heads, but Cas has never been a good actor. Balthazar raises his eyebrows and lets out a low whistle, leaning over to see if he can catch one more glimpse of Dean amidst the bustle of the restaurant.

“My, my, my…”

Cas’ brows furrow together as he looks at his brother pleadingly. “Balthazar, please—”

“Hold on. Are you _ embarrassed _?” Balthazar asks in disbelief. “Cassie, that man is an adonis.”

“A regular smokestack,” Gabriel adds, grabbing a piece of bread from the basket Dean had dropped off.

“Smoke_ show _, you idiot. Frankly,” he says, turning back to Cas, “I’m surprised you haven’t added this achievement to your resume yet.”

“The ultimate humble brag,” Gabe agrees, swallowing his piece of bread before reaching for another. “He’s like the Eric to your Ariel, dude. Or vice versa. Whatever.”

Before he can reply, another man—not a waiter, but someone still clearly working on the ship—approaches their table. He looks like a worm, with a wide, smarmy smile that immediately makes Cas uncomfortable, and he grabs for his water like it’s a life preserver.

“You boys like magic?” he asks, brandishing a tiny bouquet of roses from the sleeve of his suit.

It’s clear that Gabe’s interest is piqued, but Balthazar speaks for the entire table, waving his hand dismissively. “Only if it involves making you disappear. We’re conversing, thank you.”

The man narrows his eyes, unimpressed. “Dinner without a show? Now that’s no fun,” he says with a pout, stamping his foot like a child. He huffs and makes like he’s about to turn around and leave, but instead his hand darts down and he grabs Gabe’s cell phone up off the table. “Want to see me figure out your lock code?”

Gabe barks out an unimpressed laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Exactly why I’m asking.” The man drags a chair over from a nearby table and scoots between Gabe and Cas, taking care to avoid Balthazar, who’s flagged down a passing waiter for a scotch. “Now, open your calculator app, and let’s start with your birthday.”

They’re only a few minutes into the trick when they’re interrupted by a sharp, “You harassing my customers again, Heyerdahl?” 

Cas recognizes Dean’s voice and looks up to see him balancing a tray dotted with drinks and appetizers. The question is asked good-naturedly enough, but when Dean sets down the tray and starts serving, Cas can tell the usual warmth he’s grown so accustomed to is missing.

“Dean!” the man says, smiling sweetly as he gets to his feet. “You just always seem to pop up—” he reaches over and pulls a gold dollar coin out from behind Dean’s ear, “—out of nowhere, don’t you? We should get a bell on you.”

“Why don’t you let them enjoy their food in peace, huh?” 

“Now, where would the fun be in that?”

Dean glares at him before reaching around to place empty plates in front of each of them, saving the elaborately arranged plate of lobster rangoons for last. “Don’t let this joker stop you from enjoying your food. Chef outdid himself tonight,” he says, offering them an apologetic smile.

The man slings an arm across Dean’s shoulders and pulls him close; Cas watches as Dean stops himself from flinching away. “You should take Dean’s word for it,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “He really knows how to bring out the best in people.”

Cas looks uncertainly at Dean, whose eyes are trained on the floor. “Enjoy your food,” he mumbles before ducking out of the man’s grip and making a beeline for the kitchen.

“All part of my next trick, to make Dean Winchester disappear!”

His voice is grating, and Cas ignores him as he continues his banter with Gabe, craning his neck for a glimpse of Dean through the sea of people milling around the room. He tries his best to hide the way his shoulders slump when he doesn’t find any sign of him.

The rest of the meal passes without incident and, much to Cas’ disappointment, without much of Dean, either. He tries to stay on top of their drink refills and food orders, but each time he stops by their table, he doesn’t have any time for small talk, and Cas can’t help but notice the blank look in his eyes and the hollowness of the smile he gives them.

Once you see Dean Winchester genuinely smile, Cas realizes, it’s easy to notice when he’s not.

Their desserts are delivered by another waiter entirely, and Cas holds out for as long as he can, but his brothers draw the line after waiting for twenty minutes.

“Hate to break it to you, little brother,” Gabe says sadly, “but I doubt ol’ Chisel Cheeks there is gonna be coming back any time soon.”

Ignoring the (frankly, accurate, but still weird as hell) nickname, Cas’ eyes roam over the restaurant in one last desperate sweep before he reluctantly admits defeat and follows Gabe and Balthazar, trying hard to replace his current mental picture of Dean with one from the first time they’d met.

Dean still hasn’t left Cas’ head since dinner, making him more than a little distracted; by the fourth time Gabe accuses Cas of being bad luck at the casino, Cas practically stumbles over himself volunteering to take one for the team and get the fuck out: back to their cabin, to the main deck, he didn’t care, just anywhere but there.

He’s halfway down to their cabin when he decides that he could actually use some ice cream—fancy Restaurant dessert be damned—and grabs the fake gold-plated railing to swing himself around and head back upstairs. 

Instead of starting up the stairs like he’d expected, though, he feels pain blossom in his nose as he slams into someone. His breath leaves him in a quick, sharp exhale as he stumbles backward, hands scrabbling for the wall behind him as he tries to find purchase. 

“I’m so sorry,” he babbles, trying to pull himself together while trying not to sound as distracted as he feels. “I wasn’t watching where…” He trails off, and this time, his breath catches in his throat for an entirely different reason. “Dean.”

Dean’s staring at him, his eyes wide and flustered, and the rest of him doesn’t appear to be faring much better. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, his tie hanging loose and crooked around his neck. There’s something that looks like wine splashed across much of his shirt. If Cas had thought he looked off at dinner, it was nothing compared to now.

“Son of a bitch,” he breathes. “Shit, did I get—” He gestures helplessly to the wine stain on his shirt, and Cas can’t shake his head fast enough.

“No, no, you’re fine. Are you okay?”

Dean huffs out a quick laugh, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “It’s been a long night,” he says by explanation. “C’mon, let me…” His voice trails off as he pulls himself to his feet, then offers his hand to Cas to do the same.

Cas takes it, hoping against hope that Dean doesn’t notice the way his hand’s trembling. Dean helps him to his feet, and Cas looks up at him once he’s upright. He hasn’t known Dean long, but it’s still unsettling to see him look anything but happy, or at the very least, amused.

The Dean in front of him now, though, is upset. He’s trying hard to hide it, Cas can tell, and it almost makes him not want to pry, make Dean think that he’s doing a good job of acting normal, but when Dean looks down and mumbles a quiet apology to the floor, he reaches out for Dean’s shoulder.

He’s taken aback when Dean makes eye contact with him, looking almost helpless. As if realizing what he must look like, Dean screws them shut and scrubs a hand over his face. Cas doesn’t move, watching the way Dean breathes slowly through his mouth as he pulls himself together.

“Are you okay?” he repeats, softer this time.

When Dean opens his eyes this time, they’re focused on Cas’ lips, and Cas’ heart stutters in his chest. Dean unconsciously licks his lips; it’s so subtle, Cas isn’t even sure that _ he _ really saw it.

“Yeah, I just…”

Their hands are so close, Cas could move his just an inch and brush it against Dean’s... 

If he’d had the opportunity, he actually might’ve gone through with it, but before he can act on the impulse, Dean’s snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in, taking unsteady steps backward.

“I, uh, I gotta...work,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

Cas opens his mouth to respond, but by the time he manages to get his shit together enough to figure out what to say, Dean’s sidestepped him and is heading down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes, Cas really likes his brain.

He likes it when it helps him to see little glimpses of beauty out in the world that usually go unseen and under-appreciated by everyone else, like the dad covered in tattoos dancing his heart out to “Let it Go” with his young daughter on the main deck.

Other times, Cas can’t stand his brain and the way it makes him overthink things to the point of losing sleep, like the fact that, over a day later, it’s still tormenting him about that almost fucking kiss.

What did he do wrong?

Could he have done something different?

...is he really that bad?

He’s still thinking—no, “agonizing” is better—about the almost kiss when he boards the elevator to the top deck of the ship to meet Gabe and Balthazar for another rousing attempt at what Balthazar affectionately refers to as “assimilating him into normal society.”

When the elevator stops just one floor after his, Cas wants to be annoyed, but when the heavy doors open to reveal Dean waiting there, typing quickly on his phone, his mood immediately shifts. Dean glances up before taking a few steps forward, then quickly does a double-take and stops short.

“Hi,” Cas says, his tone carefully walking the line between cool and casual as he tries to ignore the pang of anxiety that hits his gut when Dean stays in place.

“I, uh, hey,” Dean falters, pocketing his phone and craning his neck to see behind Cas. 

“You look better,” Cas tries, then cringes when Dean smirks tiredly.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean—last night, you just seemed—”

Dean waves him off. “Y’know what, you go ahead. I should really be using the stairs.” 

Cas’ brows furrow together at Dean’s sudden change of heart, and he glances behind him. “There’s plenty of room in here—”

“‘S fine,” Dean says. “Promise.” He forces out a chuckle before leaning into the elevator and punching the DOOR CLOSE button a few times in quick succession. “See you ‘round.”

“Dean, I—” Cas cuts himself off as the elevator doors slide closed, cutting him off. Cas bites down hard on his lower lip—_ stupid, stupid, stupid _—as he tries to watch Dean as inconspicuously as possible through the elevator’s glass walls.

His heart sinks when Dean still hasn’t made a move toward any of the staircases, instead staying standing in front of the bank of elevators.

He wants to puke when he sees him enter the next one without hesitation.

The devastation from their interaction, or lack thereof, is steady through the rest of the night, edging back into Cas’ mind every time he thinks he’s managed to lose track of it, even for just a few hours.

_ Hey, remember how Dean fucking hates you? _

_ He won’t even ride in an elevator with you. _

_ Wanna hear a joke? Dean Winchester actually _ liking _ you _.

By the time the next morning comes around, he’s exhausted in the way only constant anxiety can make a person, but the last thing he wants to do is spend the day on the ship, significantly raising his chances of running into Dean again. 

However, Gabe and Balthazar have no plans to explore that day’s port, and that’s how Cas finds himself deboarding the ship onto San Juan alone, trying to decide if 9:30 in the morning is too early for whiskey. Before he can come to a decision on that, though, he hears a far-too-familiar voice from behind him.

“Hey, Lone Ranger.”

Cas stops, equal parts warmth and dread growing low in his stomach at the sound. Sure enough, when he turns around, Dean’s walking toward him, sunglasses on and a towel slung over his shoulder, a small drawstring bag looped over his elbow. _ Shit _.

“Uh, hello.” Cas waves awkwardly, waiting for Dean to catch up, against his better judgment.

“Going solo today?”

“Yes,” he says uncertainly, falling into step with Dean as they approach the port’s entrance. “Gabe’s got a hangover, and Balthazar wants to spend the day at the slot machines.”

Dean raises his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. “Thrilling.” He leans over and nudges Cas with his elbow, and Cas doesn’t know what the hell is happening. “What’ve you got planned?”

Somehow, “Spending the day mooning over you and trying to figure out what the hell it was about me that made you do a total 180 so quickly” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, so Cas settles for a tiny shrug. 

“I don’t know,” he says instead. “Probably just go on a tour or something.”

“There’s a beach not far from here,” Dean says. “It’s real nice. A little off the beaten trail, so no one really bothers to go there. You in?”

And no, Cas doesn’t want to end up on an episode of _ Dateline _, but against his better judgment, he also doesn’t want to stop spending time with Dean, as confusing and infuriating and stunning as he might be.

“Lead the way.” 

As it turns out, this is Dean’s sixth visit to San Juan in two months, and he’s already carved out a name for himself throughout the city. Cas watches, a bit awestruck, as people wave at him and smile as they pass. In between greetings, he falls into the role of Cas’ personal tour guide as they walk the crowded streets, pointing out just as many of his favorite haunts as he does places to avoid.

“Anna’s has got incredible empanadas, but you’ll shit your brains out afterward. Not saying it’s not worth it, though.”

“That store’ll rip ya off faster than you can blink. V can smell fear. And tourists.”

“You ever had flan before? Rosa’s is the best.”

“Got Sammy a wooden dick keychain from that shop there a few weeks back. Pretty sure he’s _ still _ pissed about it.”

They walk along in silence for a few minutes once Dean’s run out of stories, and Cas takes the time to lose himself in the ornate architecture of cathedrals, the boxy color of houses and shops, the openness of the city in general. 

“So, listen,” Dean says suddenly, and Cas has to fight to hide the way he startles at the interruption. “About the other night. I was, uh, it wasn’t a great day for me. I probably came across as a real dick, so...yeah. I mean, it’s not...it won’t happen again. Just wanted to let you know.”

“It’s all right,” Cas says slowly, cringing at how much his response makes it sound like the opposite. “Are you—was everything okay?”

Dean waves him off. “You don’t wanna hear my problems, man.”

If it means Dean will keep talking to him, then yes, Cas is pretty sure he wants to hear all about his problems, but he decides to keep that thought to himself. Instead, he settles for an awkward but earnest, “You listened to mine that first night. I’m happy to return the favor.”

Dean’s mouth quirks up in some semblance of a smile, but he doesn’t say anything.

Cas tries again. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a short huff of laughter. “Me too. Hey,” he says suddenly, leaning across Cas and pointing at a building they’re passing. “Look at that narrow-ass house, huh? Cool as shit. Always wanted to go in there, but you need a reservation weeks in advance. Sucks, but maybe someday, right?”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, and, in spite of everything, for Dean’s sake, he finds himself really hoping so.

By the time they arrive at a small, quiet beach, Cas is hot, probably sunburned, and even more confused than when he’d left the ship. Dean had spent the entire walk going on about food and shops and...well, actually, mostly food. His posture and tone were calm and easy, like he’d been talking with a friend the entire time.

Cas doesn’t know what to make of it, but he decides it’s easier to just follow along and figure it out as he goes.

Like Dean had promised, the place is nearly deserted. Only a couple of towels dot the beach, and Cas can’t see anyone in the water. He’s wondering if they’re even allowed to be here when he notices a man standing at a tiny, ramshackle bar eyeing them curiously.

“_ ¿Es que? _ ” The man takes off his sunglasses and squints into the sun streaming in from behind them. “ _ ¿Es que Dean Winchester? _”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cas sees Dean spread his arms wide with a grin. “The one and only!”

The man laughs, hopping over the bar and pulling Dean into a hug, laughing. He’s acting like this is some kind of long-overdue reunion, like he hasn’t seen Dean in years. “_ Es bueno verte, hermano. ¿Que pasa, tipo? _”

Dean pauses, and Cas can practically see his mind trying to piece words together in the right order. “Ah..._ como se dice _...can’t complain?”

The man laughs and says, “_ No puedo quejarme _.” He and Dean carry on for another few minutes, the bartender’s voice smooth and melodic around the Spanish words while Dean struggles through them, but he’s still trying, and Cas berates himself for taking French in high school.

He’s left standing awkwardly as they catch up, and Cas can’t help but notice the ease and charm with which he interacts with the man. It doesn’t seem any different than how he’d acted with Cas on the ship, and Cas starts to wonder if he’d completely misread this from the beginning. It would make sense—Dean is too much of a lot of things: too handsome, too funny, too smooth, too good for Cas.

Cas glances back over his shoulder, wondering if he can find his way back to port on his own.

“_ Esto es Cas _,” Dean finally says, gesturing toward him. Cas snaps to attention at his name as the bartender focuses on him.

“_ ¿Su novio? _” he asks quietly, raising an eyebrow. Dean’s cheeks go pink at whatever the man just said, and he shakes his head, his eyes wide.

“_ No, no. Un amigo _.”

The bartender grins at him, casual with a hint of suspicion, before turning to Cas. “Good to meet you, Cas,” he says, transitioning seamlessly to English as he holds his hand out for a shake. “Manuel. _ Bienvenidos _.”

“Uh...yes.”

Dean elbows him in the side and mutters, “He said ‘welcome,’ man,” with a disappointed shake of his head.

“Oh! Oh, sorry. Thank you. Thank you. Uh, _ gracias _.”

Manuel smiles at them both, then heads back behind the bar. He digs into the mini fridge and presents them with two beers, uncapping them with an easy flick of his wrist and sliding them across the counter. “On the house, _ amigos _.”

Dean grabs them both and flashes Manuel the smile that Cas has grown to enjoy so much, the one that’s apparently not as rare or special as he had first thought. He turns around and hands a bottle to Cas before holding his out in a toast. Cas glances down at the bottle in his hand and gently taps it against Dean’s.

“Awesome.”

Once they’ve found a spot to sit—Dean’s very particular, circling around and around certain areas like a dog trying to find the perfect space to piss—Cas takes a few seconds to breathe it all in. There’s no screaming kids or fried food smells, just crashing waves and salt in the air.

“This is nice,” Cas says honestly, taking a sip of his beer. He burrows his toes into the sand, tapping them up and down as he gazes out toward the ocean and watches the waves come crashing against the shore. “I understand why you like it here.”

“Right? Glad you dig it, man. I don’t really show it to too many people. Only the ones I think would appreciate it, you know?”

Dean tips his head back and takes a long pull of his beer before continuing. “Dunno what I’m gonna do once I’m on another route and won’t be comin’ here anymore. Gonna miss it.”

He’s still talking, but Cas has tuned out the specifics, opting instead to focus on _ only the ones I think would appreciate it _. So he only shares this place with people he’s close to? It’s petty and stupid, but if Dean liked Cas enough to share this place, why the hell wouldn’t he share a goddamn elevator with him? Normally, you’d share an elevator with someone before you show them a secret fucking beach, but apparently nothing about Dean is normal.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says finally, shaking his head and wedging his bottle into the sand. He tries to ignore the surprised look on Dean’s face when he continues, “But, just, can you explain to me what exactly is going on?”

Dean’s brows are furrowed together as he takes another sip of his beer, and Cas absolutely does _ not _ fixate on the way his lips look wrapped around the bottle, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He doesn’t.

“We’re...hanging out?” he asks with a bemused little smile on his face. He twists his bottle into the sand as well before leaning back on his hands. “I mean, that was my impression, unless you got news for me.”

As much as he tries, Cas can’t tell if Dean is fucking with him, and he finally just blurts out, “Why didn’t you come into the elevator with me?”

Dean’s expression doesn’t change, and Cas charges forward. “The other day, I was the only one in the elevator, and you were waiting, and then the door opened and you were going to get in—I _ saw _ you take steps forward to go in—but then you saw it was me in there and you just…” 

“Cas, that wasn’t—”

“And then, and _ then _ , to make matters worse, you thought it’d be a good idea to take the next elevator instead?” Cas stares at Dean as his cheeks go pink under his freckles. “You could barely _ fit _ in that elevator, there were so many people, but mine, all empty except for me, wasn’t good enough?”

“How did you—”

“They’re _ glass elevators _, Dean.”

Dean opens his mouth, then presses his lips together, closing his eyes. “Have you been beatin’ yourself up about this all this time?” He’s trying to brush it off like a joke, but Cas won’t let him.

“What else was I supposed to do?” Cas demands. “I _ liked _ you, Dean. And for a minute there, I thought maybe you liked me too. I really did.”

“Cas, I—”

“I understand you’re not interested,” Cas goes on, trying to regain his composure, even just a little. “It stings, but I’m an adult. I can handle it. But I really don’t appreciate you flipping back and forth on what you actually want to do. It’s—”

“It wasn’t—”

“I’m just trying to figure out what kind of game you’re—”

“Jesus, can you just _ stop _?” 

Cas freezes, taken aback by the force in Dean’s voice. He watches as Dean runs a hand through his hair. The sand stuck to his palm ends up in his hair, and he swipes it out with a frustrated sigh, and Cas is supposed to be mad at him, goddamn it, so that’s absolutely _ not _ the most endearing thing Cas has ever seen. 

“It’s a rule,” he finally says.

“A rule,” Cas repeats flatly. “It’s a rule that crew members can’t use the elevator?” He rolls his eyes. “Even just a decent lie would be nice at this point.”

“Crew can’t be alone in an elevator with a guest.” Cas stares at him, and Dean continues. “Elevator, cabin, whatever the fuck other kind of enclosed space there is on that boat. It’s too much of a liability.”

It takes Cas a few seconds to process this. “You’d get reprimanded if you were seen in the elevator alone with me?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Dean chuckles humorlessly and downs the rest of his beer, dropping the empty bottle into the sand with a frustrated sigh. “There are rules, and cameras all over the place to reinforce said rules. Like a nautical Big Brother. Break ‘em, and—” He makes a gagging noise as he slashes his hand across his throat.

Although he’s relieved at the fact that Dean doesn’t hate him, he can’t stop the sting of disappointment as Dean’s words sink in. Dean doesn’t hate him, but it doesn’t seem like he can do much to act on those feelings, either.

“So...why are we here?”

Dean pauses, looking almost surprised at Cas’ question. “What?”

“If you’re not allowed to be in enclosed spaces alone with guests, why are you here?”

Dean holds up a finger. “Not enclosed,” he says with a grin.

“You know what I mean,” Cas says. “If it’s such a big deal, why even offer to bring me here?”

“There are no cameras here,” he says finally. “And you’re a good guy. Knew you wouldn’t rat me out.” He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, as if he’s trying to decide if he should continue, before mumbling, “If I’d met you here, I’d take you out.” He pauses once more, then finishes with an uncertain, “Just wanted to pretend.”

Cas’ stomach flips and Dean’s eyes go a bit wide, misreading the situation and Cas’ reaction. “I-if you wanted to, I mean. Out on a real date, not to a place where dinner is reheated thirty seconds before it’s brought out under a plastic cover, or some stupid show or dance party or whatever.”

He can’t think of anything to say, anything that can accurately describe his confusion, surprise, and just a little bit of hope, so in an attempt to hide his own uncertainty about how to handle this whole situation, he goes with, “Are you saying the food in The Restaurant isn’t made fresh to order?”

Dean chuckles, twisting his hands around in the sand. “Hard to believe, I know.” He’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “If it were up to me, if we weren’t on a boat in the middle of the goddamn ocean, I’d probably have kissed you the first night we met.”

Now it’s Cas’ turn to be silent. Dean _ likes _ him. Not only that, Dean likes him enough to kiss him. More than a friend. People don’t think of Cas as more than a friend. They just don’t, and the fact that this man who might as well be perfection personified _ does _ is almost more than he can handle.

His heart lurches when some color drains from Dean’s face and he looks down. He must be taking too long to respond. But what does he say? How do people react to someone having feelings for them _ that aren’t a joke _? He’s not good with words at the best of times, and this is just...

“We’re not on the ship now.” His voice is quiet, hesitant, but Dean straightens immediately. He looks at Cas, trying to gauge whether or not he’s joking. Cas maintains eye contact, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and Dean’s lips part slightly.

“No,” he says slowly. “We’re not.” Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand out of the sand and rests it against Cas’ cheek, gently tracing his thumb across Cas’ cheekbone, keeping his eyes locked on his the whole time. He revels in the way Dean’s hand feels against his skin, rough crystals of sand still stuck to his fingers, and it’s all he can do not to lean into the touch. Dean’s acting like he doesn’t believe this is happening, as if this is all some big joke and Cas is about to deliver the punchline any second now. “Are you—”

Cas presses his own hand over Dean’s before leaning forward and kissing him.

Dean kisses exactly like Cas had pictured, slow and tender and deep, and Cas feels like the world has slowed down around them. He catches Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs gently, producing a pleased little sigh from Dean that has his dick twitching with interest.

Dean’s tongue dips into his mouth and Cas tilts his head back to deepen the kiss. He can’t get enough of the way Dean tastes, a strange combination of beer and saltwater and just a little bit of coffee. A warmth starts to glow deep in his belly when he feels Dean’s lips curve up in a smile against his own.

Dean draws back, looking at Cas with an infatuated glint in his eye. He chuckles lightly before reaching over and gently dusting the stray flecks of sand off of Cas’ cheek.

“Glad we’re both on the same page here,” he says, and Cas laughs. He glances down at Dean’s hand in the sand and entwines their fingers together, squeezing gently before breaking the contact. 

“Me too,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, Cas knows that he actually means it.

Dean smiles before turning toward the ocean. “So,” he says slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the horizon, “for future reference, what’s your opinion on beach sex?”

They’re heading back to the ship when Dean smacks Cas lightly on the arm. “Hey,” he says, “you got time for one more stop before we head back?”

“I don’t know, do I?”

Dean purses his lips and gazes far out in the general direction of where the ship is docked. “I know the captain. I think he’ll wait for us,” he says with a wink, and motions for Cas to follow him, but Cas stops short. 

“You coming?”

“You _ think _?” Cas’ eyes are wide, anxiety creasing his brow.

Dean’s brows furrow together. “We’ll be fine, man. Come on.”

Cas shakes his head. “No, no, no. I’ve read the articles, I heard the safety presentation. They’ll leave without us. I’m not risking being stranded here just because you _ think _ we’ll be fine.”

Dean stares at him. “Jesus, I take it you’re not one for spontaneity, then, huh?”

“Not particularly.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Duly noted,” he mutters, scooping Cas’ hand into his own and tugging him forward. “C’mon. I’ll get you back before the clock strikes midnight, Cinderella. With both your shoes, too. That’s a personal guarantee.”

“You should know that I’m allergic to pumpkins,” Cas says seriously. 

Dean stops short and stares at him until Cas’ mouth breaks into a smile. “Fuckin’ leave _ you _ stranded here,” he mutters, shaking his head before stalking off, leaving Cas to trail a few feet behind him.

They come to a stop a few minutes later, in the middle of an intersection that to Cas’ eyes, seems less than extraordinary. But Dean smiles widely, gesturing to the area in front of them with a flourish. “This is it.”

Cas doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, maybe a brewery or a music shop, but the narrow little street in front of them swarming with people wasn’t it. He glances uncertainly at Dean, half-expecting him to admit that this is some kind of prank, that his real favorite place is still to come.

Cas really has to work on his poker face, because it’s clear that Dean can tell he isn’t impressed. In response, Dean flashes a crooked smile at him before pointing up. “Look.”

And when Cas does, he gets it.

It’s a sunny day, but the street in front of them is almost completely shaded, thanks to the hundreds of umbrellas strung up high between the buildings. They’re all different colors, blues and greens and yellows and purples and silvers. Technically, they should clash with the bright pinks and oranges and reds of the surrounding buildings, but instead, they’re a perfect complement. 

People are taking photos, striking poses underneath the umbrellas, and Cas takes a second to just revel in the simple joy of the place. There’s nothing for sale, nothing glamorous or extravagant, just colors and fantasy and a break from reality.

And that’s exactly what Cas needs.

Cas finally looks back to Dean, who’s eager to see his reaction. “Cool, huh?”

Cas doesn’t even have to answer; the awed look on his face must say enough, because Dean’s already smiling that stupid crooked grin that Cas loves so much.

For a few moments, the two of them just stand there, watching as people mill around, laughing and taking photos. A young woman standing nearby turns her back to the street, wraps an arm around the waist of the man next to her—her boyfriend—and holds her phone up, snapping a photo as the two of them share a kiss.

The pang of jealousy hits Cas hard and fast, and before he can stop himself, he finds himself glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that it feels like Dean’s purposely avoiding eye contact.

“Here,” Dean says distractedly, holding his hand out expectantly. “I’ll take your picture.”

Cas looks down at his phone and back up at Dean. “Every guidebook I’ve read says never to give your phone to strangers,” he says teasingly.

“Ain’t supposed to kiss ‘em, either, but that didn’t seem to stop you.” Dean grins at him, clearly loving the way Cas’ cheeks go red. He waggles his fingers, hand still open, and says, “Humor me, huh?”

Cas rolls his eyes, but hands Dean his phone and takes a few steps closer to the umbrellas. “There isn’t a pose I have to do, is there?” he asks, thinking of the countless cringe-worthy Instagram posts he’s seen of people trying to hold up the Leaning Tower of Pisa or balancing the Washington Monument on their palm.

Dean snaps his fingers. “Yeah, actually. Most people reach up and—” He mimes reaching up for one of the handles of the umbrellas and pops his foot. “Y’know, Mary Poppins shit.”

Cas stares at him, horrified. “Are you serious?”

“No.” Dean’s response is so deadpan Cas does a double-take, and Dean waves him away. “Just stand there and look good, dude. You’re good at that.”

Cas’ eyes go wide, and Dean grins. “Gotta have better faith in your abilities, man.”

Jamming his hands into his pockets, Cas clears his throat and focuses on trying to look casual and relaxed with a close-lipped smile on his face. Dean snaps a couple of photos, taking steps to the left and right to find the best angle. “See?” he says. “You’re a natural.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Cas says dryly. He makes toward Dean, but stops when Dean holds up a finger. “I thought you got—”

Moving fast, Dean turns his back to Cas and holds the phone up high, angling it to get both of them as well as a handful of umbrellas in the frame. Confused, Cas watches as Dean turns the phone back around so he can look at the picture, then glances up at him.

“You’re in my shot, man.”

Cas opens his mouth to argue, but Dean’s shit-eating grin tells him that’s exactly what Dean had wanted.

“The camera loves me,” he says with a shrug that doesn’t feel natural, but is enough to make Dean throw his head back and laugh as he walks his phone back to him.

“See, now you’re gettin’ it.” He hands Cas his phone back, and Cas braces himself for the spark of warmth that floods his belly as their fingers brush against each other. “Let’s get back to that boat before they leave without us.”

Wanting nothing more than to stare at the photo for the foreseeable future, Cas pockets his phone and decides that, despite his earlier fears, even if the ship did leave without them, it wouldn’t be so bad.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s no better word for it—the picture’s cute.

Really fucking cute.

Dean’s open-mouthed smile is on full display, and Cas is just glad he doesn’t look like a goddamn idiot in the background. He looks a little confused, sure, but still entertained. It all looks natural, even if Dean is posing, and Cas finds himself smiling down at it more than once during dinner.

He skims his thumb across the screen, zooming in on the freckles dotting Dean’s nose and crinkles around his eyes, and he suddenly remembers the comments from Manuel.

“Gabriel, you speak Spanish, don’t you?”

Gabriel presses a fist to his chest and lets out a burp. “ _ Un poco _ ,” he says, squinting while holding his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart.

“What does ‘ _ novio _ ’ mean?”

“‘Boyfriend,’” he says brightly, then his eyes narrow quickly. “Why?”

Oh. _Oh,_ Cas hadn’t thought this through. He shakes his head, clicking his phone off and sliding it back into his pocket. “No reason. Just something I heard today at port.”

“Oh,  _ Cassie _ ,” Balthazar says, resting his chin in his hands, “It sounds to me like you’ve found yourself a suitor.”

Cas’ heart starts tripping in his chest as he realizes that Balthazar might actually be right.

* * *

Cas gets through about a half hour of that night’s movie playing on the main deck, some animated thing about dogs, before he heads over to the balcony, gazing out into the ocean. If he thinks about it too much, he can get overwhelmed with the insanity of what they’re doing—sailing through the middle of the ocean, entire cities and species beneath them—is, but for a few minutes, he just lets his mind wander.

“See anything cool?”

Cas gasps at the voice that’s suddenly appeared next to him, his phone bouncing in his palms as he protects it from tumbling over the railing and into the sea. He glances to his left and exhales when he sees Dean mirroring his pose. “Jesus,” he breathes.

Dean chuckles. “Sorry, old man.”

“A little warning would be nice.”

“You better not be checking your goddamn emails again.” Dean’s voice is teasing, but Cas doesn’t miss the serious undertone lacing it.

Cas shakes his head. “No work,” he says. “Deleted the app and everything.”

“Good.”

Cas’ lips quirk up in half a smile and he adjusts his arms so his hands are hovering above the ocean. They stand in silence for a few moments before Cas finally asks, “Do you ever think about what’s down there?”

“Hell, yeah, man,” he says without hesitation. “Giant squids and angler fish and fuckin’...goblin sharks. Gimme ’em all.”

Cas raises his eyebrows. “I, uh, had been thinking more along the lines of whales and dolphins, but...yes, sure.”

Dean scoffs and waves the comment away. "Those are cool, but these things are  _ brutal _ .” He brings his fingers together and kisses the tips before splaying them wide in a chef’s kiss. “The best.”

“I wasn’t expecting such an enthusiastic reaction.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, they’re the best. You know we’ve explored like, less than ten percent of the ocean? Less than ten percent! And we’ve already found  _ those _ fuckers in just that ten percent, just imagine what else is running around down there.”

“That’s...terrifying.”

Dean grins widely, his tongue just barely poking out between his teeth. “I know, right? It’s great.”

“You and I might have different ideas of what that word means.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Montoya.”

Cas smiles softly. “Today was fun,” he finally says after a pause, not sure how effectively he’s hiding the nervousness in his voice.

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

Back to silence. That obviously went well.

“So, uh—”

“I hope—”

Cas glances up just in time to see Dean gesturing for him to continue, and he wets his lips before looking back out into the horizon. “I hope I wasn’t too forward,” he finally says. “With the, well, you know.”

Dean laughs and taps his hip against Cas’. “I think you’re forgetting the fact that  _ I _ kissed  _ you _ back.”

Cas absolutely  _ hadn’t _ forgotten that fact, and he hopes he never does. “Still,” he says in spite of himself, “I hope it wasn’t...bad.”

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

“So...what does that mean?”

Dean scrunches his mouth up to one side of his face, considering. “What do you want it to mean?”

“I think you know,” Cas says, and Dean huffs out a laugh. 

“We gotta be careful,” he finally says quietly, still not meeting Cas’ eyes. “You know that, right?”

Cas nods. “ _ Romeo and Juliet _ on the high seas.”

“But gayer,” Dean says automatically. “And with less death.”

“I’d hope so.” Cas smiles, stealing a quick glance at Dean, who’s still looking out into the sea, seeming lost in thought.

“We’ve gotta save the PDA,” Dean continues, as if he hadn’t heard Cas speak.

Cas nods. “Private displays of affection, then.”

Dean points at him without looking. “Exactly. And no swooning.”

Cas grins down at his feet. “I’m not sure if I can keep my swooning under control.”

He feels Dean’s eyes on him before he turns and looks, and when he does, his face is soft in the lowered lighting of the deck, but Cas has no trouble seeing the fondness in his eyes. “I’ll try if you do.”

With that, Dean reaches over and brushes his fingers gently against Cas’. It’s barely there, a blink-and-you-miss-it motion, but it makes fireworks go off in Cas’ chest, and when he sees Dean giving him a soft smile, he wants to fling himself off the ship and into the sea.

But he doesn’t want to be too dramatic.

“A for effort,” Cas says instead, and Dean stares at him for a second before huffing out a laugh. “So,” Cas continues, willing his heart to slow down and his goddamn fingers to stop tingling, “tell me about goblin sharks.”

By the time they decide to part for the night so Dean can squeeze in a few hours of sleep before his early morning shift, Cas wouldn’t be able to tell anyone the first thing about goblin sharks, but he could go on for days about the way Dean’s eyes light up in the dark, how he talks with his hands about things he loves. 

And if you ask him, it’s all a lot more interesting than goblin sharks, anyway.

  
  


Above all else, they’re careful.

Cas spends some time observing how other guests interact with crew members, crew members they’re presumably not interested in having their dicks in (or maybe they are, who’s Cas to decide) and tries to mimic them as much as possible: casual conversations, jokes, a certain breeziness that in no way suggests they’re restraining themselves from getting in one another’s pants.

This might be harder than he thought. 

With no cell service on the ship, there’s no point in exchanging numbers, so they settle for a more classic method of communication: the ever-popular love note. Or, well, infatuation note. Because you don’t fall in love with someone after having known them only a few days.

Obviously.

That still doesn’t change the fact that Cas’ heart skips a beat whenever he finds a quick little note Dean’s tucked under his receipt after closing out his tab at Alchemy. They’re never anything much, things like “Hope you had a good day” and “You should reapply sunscreen” and “Apple pie for dessert tonight!!!!” and “I just want to fucking kiss you right now.”

There’s also his personal favorite, “Fuck you for wearing that fucking shirt in front of me Jesus Christ.” 

It wasn’t even that nice of a shirt, just a faded AC/DC tee he uses as a pajama shirt, but Cas makes sure to wear it during his next three visits to the bar. He can’t tell if it makes Dean want to throttle him or drag him back over the bar and fuck him then and there.

It’s only by coincidence that Cas is wearing the infamous shirt when he heads down to the main entertainment lobby of the ship with his book. Cas has taken to it as his new haven of choice, despite the fact that there’s usually live music and dancing happening. It’s never quiet, but it feels homey, like he’s still part of things without having to interact too much. 

Cas stops halfway down the winding staircase to watch the activity going on below him. There’s a swing band performing and lots of people laughing and dancing—older couples, parents with little kids, thirty-somethings who’ve had one too many shots, and even a few just dancing on their own. He smiles to himself, resting his elbows on the railing and looking around, when he catches sight of a familiar-looking shock of dark hair milling around the bar below.

As he heads down to the bar, Cas wrestles yet again with a question that’s been plaguing him for far too long: whether Dean’s a blonde or brunette. His hair is smack in the middle, and no matter how much Cas thinks about it, he refuses to admit how much the fact that he can’t figure it out fucking bothers him.

It’s easy to tell when Dean catches sight of him; he jerks his chin up and starts toward his side of the bar. “If it ain’t my favorite bookworm.”

“Do you have blonde or brown hair?” he blurts out suddenly.

Dean’s brows furrow together for a second, then he answers brightly, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, that was stupid.”

“Not stupid,” he says, running a hand through his frustratingly ambiguous hair. “Just an enigma. Like the Bermuda Triangle. But of hair. Tell ya this, though, you want ‘Eighth Wonder of the World’ hair, you should see my brother’s.”

Cas stares at him for a few seconds, then grins in spite of himself. “How are you?” he asks, scooting up onto the empty bar stool in front of him. 

“Peachy. ‘M workin’ with my favorite bartender tonight, after all,” he says, swinging his arm around the shoulders of a slightly frazzled-looking woman with a name tag that reads “Billie.” She’s got four shot glasses nested between her fingers, and looks like the last thing she needs is to deal with Dean and his antics.

“Throw that arm again and lose it, Winchester,” she says, ducking out of his embrace before heading over to deliver the shots.

“She loves me,” Dean says with a shrug, and Cas smiles. Keeping his eyes on Cas, he cracks open a can of Sprite and pours it into a glass before sliding it over to a little boy who’s just slurping up the last few sips of his.

“Say thank you, Jesse,” the boy’s father says, nodding appreciatively at Dean.

“Thank you, Jesse,” the boy parrots with a smirk, switching his straw from the empty glass to the full one. Dean grins, pointing at Jesse before turning back to Cas.

“What’cha got?” He nods toward the book in Cas’ hand. 

Cas places it on the bar and turns it around so Dean can read it. “ _ Lincoln in the Bardo _ ,” he says. “It’s a—”

Dean’s eyes light up. “That’s the one about the ghosts and Abe Lincoln’s kid, right? Shit, man, I wanna read that.”

“It’s very weird,” Cas says, taking the book and flipping through its pages, and Dean nods eagerly.

“Be disappointed if it wasn’t,” he says. “Guy’s shit is rid _ iculous _ .” He keeps talking as he bends down to dig around in the cooler beneath the bar. “The story with the dude who cuts off the kid’s hand, what the hell, man.” He pulls out the fixings for a Long Island Iced Tea and mixes it without looking down, tossing out a cocktail napkin with a flourish and pinning it under the glass before winking at Cas. “You one of those people who brings six books on vacation?”

Cas glares at him, but can feel his cheeks flushing anyway. “I only packed three,” he says, and Dean throws his head back and laughs. Cas wants to keep talking with Dean—about anything, really, but finding out he’s also a fan of one of Cas’ favorite authors is more of an aphrodisiac than he expected—but a man a few stools down coughs and starts shaking his empty glass, the ice cubes rattling around.

Dean smiles tightly and turns around to face him. “Need a refill, man?”

The man rolls his eyes, looking at Dean like he’s something he just scraped off his shoe. “What was your first clue?”

Cas raises a brow and takes a long sip of his drink. Dean locks eyes with him and mouths, “Fuck me” before turning around to fix the man another drink. Cas coughs in an attempt to stop himself from spitting his drink across the bar.

“Sure thing, what’re you having?” Dean answers the man. Cas sees the way Dean’s mouth quirks up in a tiny smile, and he knows he heard his failed attempt at stifling his laughter. Once he’s finished the drink, he heads over to help Billie with a particularly loud group, and Cas turns around to watch the band.

They finish up a song Cas is sure he heard in their Uber back in Florida, and the lead singer pulls the microphone out of its stand. “Aw, thank you, thank you, y’all are sweet,” he says, wrapping the cord around his wrist as the crowd claps and whistles. “We’re going a little slower with this next one, you know the drill.”

Couples start ambling out onto the dance floor as the opening notes for “All of Me” are played. Cas watches them sway and kiss and rest their heads on each other’s chests and just generally be in love, and tries to ignore the jealousy bubbling down deep in his gut. 

He finds himself fixating on one particular couple near the middle of the dance floor, two men in their mid-twenties. Their fingers entwined, each resting one hand on the other’s hip. One is a bit shorter than the other, and he lifts himself up onto his toes to press a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s lips before smiling and resting his head against his chest. The other man pulls him closer and kisses the top of his head.

And they just look so goddamn  _ content _ . Cas feels jealousy surge through him as he downs the rest of his drink in one long gulp. He wonders what it would feel like to rest his own head against Dean’s chest, to hear his heart beating underneath him, feel the slow ease of his breathing. He wonders if holding Dean’s hand is similar to how it felt when they shook hands that first night, or if there’ll be something firmer, warmer, just  _ better _ . 

Cas can feel a presence at his back, and he glances over his shoulder to see that Dean’s returned and is already making him another drink.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up.” Dean only slows down to purse his index and middle fingers together down against his thumb, and Cas smiles as he watches Dean put the drink together like it’s second nature.

“Do you ever wish you could just go join them?” Cas asks suddenly. Dean finishes the drink and slides it toward him, then leans forward to rest his forearms down on the bar. He’s quiet for a few seconds.

“Yeah, sometimes,” he finally says. “Bet it’d be real nice.” And when he looks at Cas, he can tell they’re on the same page. “What’ve you got planned for the rest of the night, huh?”

Cas shrugs. “Probably just this,” he says, holding up his book. “Exciting.”

Dean chuckles. “He’s a blast to read plastered.”

“Speaking from experience?” Cas asks, curling his lips around his straw and trying not to notice the way Dean’s eyes stay on his mouth as he does so.

“Fuck, no,” Dean says with a grin, eyes sparkling.

“Watch your mouth, Winchester,” Billie says, bumping his hip with hers as she slides past them. Dean rubs the spot dramatically, looking after her, then turns back to Cas. 

“Guess I should help before I get my ass thrown overboard. You want to keep this open?” he asks, gesturing toward Cas’ tab.

Cas shakes his head, and Dean heads to the register to close out his tab. When he returns, he slides a pen and two copies of his receipt toward Cas. He taps the receipt with two fingers, flashing a small, crooked grin Cas’ way. “Have a good night, man.” 

Cas hadn’t understood it at first, Dean’s two-finger tap. Honestly, he’d just thought it was some kind of weird tic, but once Dean had explained it to him (okay, he just gestured to the receipt with an expression that said “Are you kidding me?”), he felt like a middle schooler interacting with his first crush.

_ Do you like me, check yes or no. _

There’s an empty loveseat near the bank of elevators behind the stage, and Cas makes a beeline for it, tucking himself into the corner. His fingers are shaking—he  _ is _ a fucking middle schooler, goddamn it—as he unfolds the receipt, turns it over, and scans Dean’s chickenscratch. 

_ Fish bar, midnight, be cool _

Cas looks up, eyes darting around as if someone could swoop over his shoulder and snatch Dean’s note out of his hands, stand up on one of the coffee tables and read it out loud to everyone in the main hall. When it’s clear that’s not going to happen, he slides it back behind the front cover of his book and tries to read.

After reading the same paragraph for the fifth time in a row, he gives it up as a lost cause. There have got to be better ways for him to kill the next four hours.

As it turns out, Cas  _ doesn’t _ actually have better ways to kill the next four hours.

Instead, he spends them trying to sit through a cheesy 80s sci-fi movie being shown on the main deck, a comedy show in one of the side ballrooms, and a Harry Potter trivia competition that’s more likely than not rigged, but his mind never strays from Dean for too long.

_ How is Dean’s night going? _

_ What’s he doing right now? _

_ What does he want to do  _ later _ ? _

_ Does Dean like horror movies? _

_ Does he read  _ Harry Potter _ ? _

_ What house is he in? _

_ Does Balthazar have any of that cologne left? Should I wear cologne? What if Dean is allergic? _

Cas figures fifteen minutes is enough time for him to arrive without looking like a pathetic, overeager creep, and he takes a seat in one of the plush easy chairs near the fish bar at exactly 11:46.

It’s not even a bar; it’s just a booth  _ next to  _ a bar that serves ice cream in waffle cones shaped like fish, and as it gets closer and closer to midnight, Cas finds himself wishing he’d downed a few drinks beforehand.

He’s about to get up and at least order himself a fish-shaped sundae when he notices someone heading toward him out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is, but he’s also not one to deny himself a nice view.

“There you are!” Dean sounds relieved, as if worried there had been even the slightest chance of Cas standing him up. He’s walking fast, almost like someone’s tailing him, and Cas cranes his neck to look past Dean to make sure that’s actually not the case.

“What do you m—”

“You must’ve dropped this, dude,” he interrupts, slipping something roughly the size of a credit card into Cas’ hand. “Gotta take better care of it, who knows who’ll try sneakin’ around with it.” He claps Cas on the back as he passes, then calls, “Have a good night, man!” over his shoulder.

Cas stares after him, unsure of what the fuck just happened. When it’s clear that Dean isn’t going to be doubling back, Cas glances down at the card in his hand and is surprised to see his own face looking back up at him.

“What the…” he breathes, bringing the card closer. He recognizes the photo—it’s the one a crew member had taken of him for his ID card the morning they boarded the ship—but instead of being the forest green color that proclaims him a cruise newbie, the card is stark white with an employee identification number printed neatly underneath it.

CASTIEL NOVAK

STEWARD CREW, DECK A

EMPLOYEE ID 4815162342

Cas glances up suspiciously, half-expecting someone to pop up, snatch the card out of his hand, and have him arrested for identity theft (but it’s  _ his _ identity, he reasons, so that wouldn’t make sense, maybe they’d slam him for forgery instead—goddamn it get it to _ gether _ Castiel) and takes a deep, slow breath when he realizes that he’s alone.

There’s a tiny note, folded end over end, stuck with a loop of tape on the back of the card, and Cas carefully peels it off, glancing around once more before unfolding it.

_ Hey— _

_ Use this to get you through. Cabin A617, starboard. See you tonight. _

On the rest of the paper is a messily drawn map. There’s a little star, a “you are here” of sorts, notated, followed by a series of arrows that lead down a couple of staircases and through the maze of what Cas assumes are the crew quarters, ultimately landing on a cabin with several squiggly lines drawn around it.

Okay, Dean may not be the next Rembrandt, but Cas still finds himself swallowing down a smile as he pockets the note and ID card, then heads for his cabin. He’s got a few things to take care of before he finds Dean’s cabin.

Like figure out where the fuck “starboard” is.

* * *

Cas learns two important things pretty quickly that night:

That “starboard,” as it turns out, is ship-speak for “right.”

And that ship guests aren’t the only ones who like to party.

He’s thrown back into his college days as he inches down the narrow hallway that reminds him too much of his dorm on a Saturday night. The scents of booze and weed are heavy in the air, and the music is loud and pulsing; he doesn’t understand how he and the rest of the other passengers never actually hear or smell it; it’s like they’re on an entirely different ship.

There are no windows down here—the only sparks of light coming from the strings of colored Christmas lights draped along the bare white walls—and although the realization freaked him out at first, he’s almost grateful for it now. He’s sure he wouldn’t react well to a whale or eel slithering by.

He’s got Dean’s crude map in his pocket, but he doesn’t want to risk looking more out of place than he’s sure he already does, so he closes his eyes and tries to picture where the hell he’s supposed to go next.

The ship isn’t rocking, he  _ knows _ the ship isn’t rocking, but that doesn’t do anything to stop the queasiness churning in his gut as he keeps walking, forcing himself to focus on finding stupid A617, and the stupid guy inside it.

After a few wrong turns and an unfortunate walk-in incident that he knows will be burned into his retinas for the foreseeable future, Cas half-expects cabin A617 to be a mirage when he finally catches sight of it.

He goes to knock on the door of what he practically considers to be the promised land, but before he can, it’s thrown open, nearly hitting him square in the face. Dean’s on the other side, eyes widening slightly when he takes in Cas standing there. He eyes Cas up and down—Cas tries to ignore the spark of heat building low in his belly at the fact that Dean didn’t even try to hide it—before grabbing a fistful of his shirt, pulling him roughly into the room, and closing the door behind them.

He wastes no time, shoving Cas up against the door as he presses his lips to Cas’ mouth, his jaw, his neck. Cas works just as quickly, fingers digging into Dean’s hips and tugging insistently at his shirt.

“Thought you got caught,” Dean mutters breathlessly, breaking contact with Cas only to let him pull his shirt over his head. He looks up at Cas, hair mussed and eyes gleaming, and Cas loops the discarded shirt around Dean’s neck, using it to pull him closer so they’re flush against each other.

“Well, lucky for you,” Cas says, relishing the feeling of Dean’s breath hot against his mouth, “I didn’t.”

And the fucking  _ look _ Dean gives him, a hungry, infatuated stare that has Cas’ dick straining against his jeans. He tosses Dean’s shirt away and fumbles for the hem of his own shirt. He feels like a goddamn ape, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind; he’s got a hand on his belt, unbuckling it and threading it through the loops with  _ one goddamn hand _ , and Cas’ teeth dig into his lower lip as he reacts to just about the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Dean smirks at his dumbstruck expression, taking a second to toss the belt haphazardly over his shoulder before starting in on Cas’. Cas’ breath hitches as Dean’s fingers brush along his stomach, and the second Dean’s done with his belt, he grabs him by the biceps to turn him around. He digs his hands into the swell of Dean’s ass and starts the process of maneuvering them both forward when he stumbles harder than normal, almost smashing his face into Dean’s fucking beautiful mouth.

“What the fuck—” He glances down to see the cord of a console controller tangling itself around his ankle, and kicks it away, annoyed. Dean takes the opportunity to start tugging Cas’ jeans down his thighs while shimmying out of his own, his mouth hot and insistent against Cas’.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles, letting himself tip backward onto the bed and pulling Cas down with him.

All their clothes are gone now, and Cas straddles Dean, reaching behind him and wrapping his hand around Dean’s dick, giving it a gentle tug that has Dean canting his hips up to roll against Cas.

“C’mon,” he groans, reaching for Cas’ hips. Cas leans into him and makes to kiss him, stopping short to run his tongue along Dean’s chest instead, stopping to graze his teeth along Dean’s nipples. As he curls his tongue around one, he feels Dean’s fingers dig into his hips and smiles before nipping at the delicate skin of Dean’s neck. 

Dean arches his neck back and pulls Cas even closer until Cas’ dick is brushing against Dean’s chin. He glances at it, then up at Cas questioningly.

And although it hadn’t been Cas’ original plan, who the hell is he to say no to an offer like that?

Cas had loved the way Dean’s mouth felt on his own, but having it wrapped around his cock is enough to make him forget, well, _ everything _ . Dean’s voice is muffled, but his attempts to say Cas’ name go straight to his dick, and Cas arches his back, bracing himself on his palms.

He glances behind him; Dean’s dick is already growing hard even with such little stimulation. He leans back further and wraps his hand around Dean’s dick to speed up the process, making his rocking motions more drastic to push deeper into Dean’s mouth while getting a better grip.

It’s a stretch, and not necessarily the most comfortable position he’s ever been in, but the urgency with which Dean thrusts into his hand, the sounds Dean makes with his mouth stuffed full of Cas are more than worth it, and Cas unconsciously finds himself stroking Dean faster to keep pace with them.

He’s not sure if he’s driven more by Dean’s reactions to his hand or the way Dean’s mouth feels around him, but he keeps going, his free hand cupping Dean’s cheek then splaying itself across his chest. They come within moments of each other, and Cas can taste himself when he leans in to kiss Dean again.

Dean’s bed is small, only a little bigger than a twin, but Cas doesn’t care about the proximity as they clean up and readjust themselves so Dean’s got his arm wrapped around Cas’ shoulders, Cas’ head pillowed on his chest.

“Well…” Cas’ voice trails off, sated, as he looks up at Dean, who’s staring at the ceiling, a pleased little smile on his face.

“All aboard the pleasure cruise,” Dean says sleepily. He flashes Cas a small grin and pretends to tug on an invisible ship bell. 

Cas rolls his eyes. “Go to sleep, Dean.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” He closes his eyes and snuggles in a bit closer, and Cas drifts off to the feeling of Dean’s lips pressed softly into his hair.

A thud outside the door jerks Cas out of his restless sleep. Dean’s breathing is slow and steady next to him, and he closes his eyes once more before glancing up into the pitch-black room. The only source of light is coming from the slim crack at the bottom of the door, letting in the fluorescents from the hallway.

His heart skips a beat when a shadow crosses the light and there’s a soft thud outside the door.

“Dean,” Cas hisses, tapping his arm with increasing urgency as the sounds outside get louder. “ _ Dean _ !”

Dean groans and grumbles something under his breath. He’s about to roll over and continue ignoring Cas, but Cas can feel the way he freezes as the door beeps.

Someone’s inside.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean and Cas lay frozen as the person enters, the door clicking closed behind them. “Man, Chief, let me tell you, I’ve had myself a  _ day _ ,” the man says, flicking on the cabin’s light before tossing his keycard onto the desk nearby and throwing open the bathroom door, stepping inside. “Remind me again why I thought it’d be fun to work on a cruise ship, huh?” 

He keeps rambling on about something, but Cas is more focused on the fact that as he talks, he also starts fucking  _ pissing _ . Cas stares at Dean with wide, panicked eyes, and he’s not exactly reassured by the fact that Dean’s got the same exact look on his own face.

After a few seconds, though, he seems to snap out of it and starts pointing down urgently.

“What?” Cas mouths.

Dean waves his hand down toward the floor again, mouthing something Cas can’t understand. He shakes his head and shrugs, trying to make it clear that  _ he has no fucking idea what Dean’s talking about _ . If he’d been wearing a shirt, Cas is pretty sure Dean would’ve grabbed a fistful of it and started shaking him in frustration by now, but he works with what he has instead.

“Get. Down,” he mouths, each word punctuated by another jab of his finger toward the floor. Cas nods quickly and is about to roll over when a bemused chuckle from the other side of the room makes them both freeze. 

“Well, shit.”

For a second, Cas wonders how idiotic he’d look if he still rolled off the bed, leaving Dean to fend for himself. The man who’d entered the room has a knowing grin on his face, Dean’s frozen next to him, and Cas is positive that he’s never been so fucking mortified in his life.

“Damn, if I knew we had company, I’d’ve washed my hands."

It takes a few seconds, but Cas finally realizes that this isn’t the first time he’s seen Dean’s roommate; he recognizes him as one of the head chefs from the dining room. Cas had thought it had been embarrassing going back for seconds—and later, thirds—of the man’s gumbo the other night, but this is worse. So, so much worse.

“Thought you were spendin’ the night with Angela, man,” Dean says shakily.

“She canceled, so I took on a couple extra hours instead. Guess I shoulda grabbed a few more, huh?” He winks at both of them, and Cas tugs the sheets up over his head. The man laughs. “Hey, hey, sorry, brother, I ain’t shamin’ ya. God knows we all need a little private time every now and then, especially on this oversized tin can. Come on out. I’ll even cover my eyes if you want me to.”

Dean’s elbow digs into Cas’ side and he sucks in a quick breath through his teeth before removing the covers with a resigned sigh. Benny smiles warmly at him. “You new?” he asks. “Benny LaFitte, main dining room.” 

Cas knows; he wants to tell the man—Benny—that he’s a big fan of his po’ boys, but bites his tongue.  _ Not. The. Time _ . 

Benny’s got his hand out for a shake, and Cas stares down at it. “You...didn’t wash your hands,” he says finally.

Benny laughs. “Found yourself a little germaphobe there, Winchester?” he asks, taking a few steps back into the bathroom and grabbing a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. He makes a big, exaggerated show of cleaning his hands, then looks expectantly at Cas, who stays silent.

“Gonna make me guess, huh?”

“Benny—” Dean starts helplessly.

“Obviously not dining. I’d’a met ya by now.”

“Dude—”

“Oh, you part of that bluegrass crew that just joined?”

“He’s not—”

“Are ya? Shit, I always knew Dean worked fast but this is something e—”

“ _ Benny _ !” Cas glances over at Dean, who’s got his palms pressed against his forehead, fingers tangled in his hair. “He’s not crew.”

Benny laughs, but Cas can already start to see the uneasiness start to appear on the man’s face. “Bullshit, Winchester.”

“Why the fuck would I lie about this?” Dean’s still focused on his lap, and Benny glances at Cas.

“Well? He lyin’ about this?”

“I’m a copywriter,” Cas says, almost apologetically. “Or, well, I  _ was _ , anyway.”

Benny purses his lips and considers this for a few seconds. As nice as he’d seemed just a few moments earlier, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that he’s still a  _ big _ guy, and Cas wants nothing less than to inadvertently land on his shit list. “Good,” he finally says. “So at least we’ll have two unemployed assholes in this cabin. Good, good, good.”

Dean rolls his eyes at that, and Cas tries to ignore the way his stomach tightens. What does that even mean? 

“It’s not—”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Come on, LaFitte, use your head.”

Benny laughs, in disbelief or disgust, Cas can’t tell. “That’s rich comin’ from you right now, you goddamn idiot. Who else knows?”

“Nobody, and it’d be great if we could keep it that—”

“You haven’t told Charlie?”

Dean’s head finally snaps up and he glares at Benny. “What part of ‘nobody’ didn’t you get?”

Before Benny can reply, Cas asks, more unconsciously than anything, “The photographer?”

Both Dean and Benny whirl and stare at him, and Benny throws his hands up in exasperation. “How many people are you sleepin’ with on this damn boat?”

Dean looks like he’d like to know the answer too, and Cas drags a hand over his face. “She was our photographer for elegant night,” he says in a feeble attempt at explanation, the sentence sounding lame even to his ears.

Neither one of them responds. Benny’s gaze darts from Dean to Cas and back, before finally staying fixed on his roommate. “Can I talk to you outside a minute, Chief?”

Dean opens his mouth to retort, but Cas can hear his jaw click shut when Benny fixes him with an intent, serious look. He sighs and tosses the sheets back, mumbles something to Cas about not worrying, and follows Benny out into the hall.

The second the door closes behind them, Cas flops back onto the bed, the air forced out of him with a faint  _ whoosh _ . He wants to be sick. He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds before staring up at the ceiling.

“ _ Shit _ .”

Even from across the room, he can hear muffled bits and pieces of Dean’s conversation with Benny, and he tangles his own fingers in his hair, eyes darting anxiously around him. The lack of windows makes it feel like the walls are closing in around him, and he tries to imagine what will happen, what  _ could _ happen.

They’re in the middle of the goddamn ocean, they can’t just kick him  _ off _ —

Cas’ heart stammers in his chest. The plank.  _ This _ is where the concept of walking the plank came from, not as a punishment for unruly pirates, but to make an example of people on cruise ships who stick their dicks in places they don’t belong.

He’s right in the middle of trying to figure out if he’d be able to sneak a last-rites phone call to Gabriel and Balthazar when the door beeps once more and Dean and Benny reenter. He’s desperate for any inkling of an idea of what was said, what’ll happen, but neither man gives anything away.

Cas kind of hates them for it.

Dean goes back to his bed and nudges Cas with his hip. “Shove over, huh?”

Stunned, Cas moves almost robotically, and Dean hops back onto the bed next to him. Benny’s grabbing a duffel that’s dangling from the edge of a closet door and starts shoving clothes into it. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps packing until the bag’s full to nearly bursting. A spark of heat shoots up Cas’ spine when he feels Dean’s hand resting gently against the small of his back, and he instinctively leans back into the touch.

Dean doesn’t seem stressed, but he hadn’t seemed stressed when his fucking roommate walked in on them, so Cas takes that with a grain of salt. He opens his mouth to ask what exactly is going on, but Benny gets there first.

“I got one question,” Benny says, finally looking up at Cas. He doesn’t look  _ mad _ , exactly, more  _ resigned _ , if anything. “And if I don’t ask, it’s gonna bug me the rest of the night.” He looks from Cas to Dean and back, then asks, a hint of genuine wonder in his voice, “How the fuck did he get you down here?”   
  


Cas’ last walk of shame had been during his sophomore year in college, but he doesn’t remember it being nearly as nerve-wracking as this one.

Dean slowly opens the door, his hand pressed to Cas’ chest as he peeks out into the hall. After a few seconds, he nods and gestures for Cas to follow him and Cas does, his heart in his throat. They move fast, their feet barely making a sound against the stark tile floor, and Cas takes a few minutes to reflect on the whirlwind that was last night.

_ “You made him a fake ID?” _

_ As uncomfortable as Dean looks, he still flashes a cocky smile at Benny. “What, you thought I was only good for slingin’ drinks?” _

_ Benny looks at him incredulously and shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable, brother.” _

_ “Thank you,” Dean says smugly. _

_ “Just...be careful.” He gets to his feet and Cas is once again struck by just how  _ big  _ Benny is, and he swallows down his nerves, fisting a hand in the sheets to keep his fingers from trembling. He knows what they’re doing isn’t exactly ideal, but Benny’s acting like it’s a crime punishable by death. _

_ As concerned as Benny is, though, Dean’s just as relaxed, if not moreso, and Cas clings onto that confidence like a lifeline. Benny seems to be thinking about something else to say, then finally gets to his feet. “Y’all have a good night, all right? And for fuck’s sake, use protection.” _

It hadn’t been support, exactly, but it also hadn’t been a call to ship security, and at this point, Cas will take what he can get.

“Benny’s not going to tell anyone, is he?” Cas asks quietly as they head down the hallway toward the stairwell leading to the main artery of the ship. “You’re sure?”

“Benny’s good people.”

“I know, but—”

“He won’t, man. I trust him; trust me.”

Cas nods, biting down on his lower lip to stop himself from asking anymore questions. Despite how hard he tries, though, one still slips out. “What would happen? If we were caught, I mean.”

“We won’t get caught,” Dean mutters, craning his neck down the next hallway to make sure the coast is clear.

“But hypothetically,” Cas insists. “Would it be like—”

“I don’t know,” Dean says sharply, spinning on his heel to face Cas, “and I’m not plannin’ on finding out anytime soon. Okay?”

Cas opens his mouth to respond when he notices someone coming toward them, and before he can say anything else, the man hurries to close the gap between them and claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder, making him startle.

“Deano,” the man says in a nasally voice that makes Cas stop short. He recognizes that voice, he knows he does. It only takes a second for Cas to recognize him as the magician from dinner the other night, looking just as skeevy in regular clothes as he did in that ill-fitting suit. Cas trains his eyes on the floor, praying that the man — Alastair — wouldn’t recognize him.

Dean smiles tightly, worming his way out from under the man’s grip. “Alastair.”

“Long time no see,” Alastair says to Dean.

“Not long enough, pal.”

Alastair ignores Dean’s barb, focusing his attention on Cas instead. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” Cas can feel Alastair’s eyes on him, and his breath catches in his throat when the man adds, “I met you already, friend? You sure do look familiar.”

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Why don’t you fuck off, how about that?”

Alastair laughs, sounding like he’s joking with a parent about their kids having a tantrum. “Quite the mouth on him, huh? But that’s just part of what makes Dean so...delightful.” 

Cas mentally berates himself for inadvertently making eye contact in the first place, but he doesn’t miss the way Dean’s jaw locks when Alastair reaches forward to pat him sharply on the cheek. 

“Fuck off,” he says again, smacking Alastair’s hand away. “Stop scarin’ the newbies.”

Cas can feel Alastair turns his attention fully toward him. He feels like a bug pinned under a microscope, and shifts uncomfortably. “Welcome aboard, kiddo,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll be learning just how accommodating Dean is, if he hasn’t shown you already.”

“Hey.” Cas looks up just in time to see Dean shove Alastair roughly into the wall behind him. “What part of ‘fuck off’ didn’t you get, Heyerdahl?”

Alastair raises his hands in surrender, smirking. “Touchy,” he says. He takes a second to adjust his clothing, then winks at Cas. “Best of luck.” He gives them a parody of a salute and leaves.

Dean watches him go, hands clenched into fists at his sides. In a burst of motion, he screws his eyes shut and makes to smack his hand into the wall but pulls back at the last second, grunting and pressing his lips together hard enough that they go white.

“Dean?” Cas asks, his voice smaller than he’d anticipated.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“I saw him—”

“He didn’t recognize you.” Dean’s voice is so sure that Cas wants to drop the subject, but he can’t.

“What if he tells s—”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Cas watches Dean’s retreating back, a bit stunned, when another aspect of the conversation slams into him with the blunt force of a train. 

“What  _ was _ that?” he asks, picking up his pace to keep up with Dean, who’s started making a beeline through the halls. “Did you two—did you  _ date _ him?”

“Come on. We gotta get you out of here before someone who’s not as dumb as a pile of rocks runs into us.”

“What d—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But he—”

“I said, don’t worry about it. Christ.”

Cas worries about it.

Cas feels like a vampire once they’re finally back up on the main deck, shielding his face against the sunshine. Before he can figure out how to excuse himself and try to carry on with his day, Dean turns around. “A mistake,” he says, barely looking at Cas.

“What?”

“You asked what that was.” Dean juts his chin toward the doorway they’d just left. “It was a mistake.”

Before he can stop it, Cas’ head is flooded with images of Dean’s arms around Alastair, their mouths pressed together, kissing and grabbing and caressing, and he wants to be sick.

“Y-you and—”

“I’d just started.” Dean’s voice is tight, and he doesn’t look at Cas as he speaks. “I wasn’t in a good place, and he knew it. He’s still pissed that I got out of it.”

“But Dean, he’s disgusting.” It’s not the ideal word, and Cas feels like an asshole for using it, but Dean just nods.

“I know,” he says through gritted teeth. “I think I knew then too, but…” He waves the thought away and for a second, almost looks like he’s about to lean in and kiss Cas, then realizes where they are, and holds back. A herd of families is walking toward them, and Dean rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “The, uh, the atrium’s that way, man,” he says, pointing in the exact opposite direction of where the atrium actually is. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” Cas says awkwardly, after a pause.

“Enjoy your stay, huh?”

“I already have.” 

And Cas knows that Dean can’t really respond with much more than a polite smile, but judging by the way his eyes light up, the skin around them crinkling, if he could have had a stronger reaction, Cas knows he would have, and he knows it would’ve been a good one.

He sticks out like a sore thumb in his bartending uniform, but Cas still almost doesn’t recognize Dean, curled up in the corner of one of the sofas in the crowded entertainment lobby later that day. He’s got one leg tucked under the other in a position that’s far from professional, but no one seems to mind.

Cas knows  _ he _ doesn’t.

Dean’s got headphones on, big, bulky things obviously designed to tune out the rest of the world, and is watching something on an iPad. As Cas walks toward him, he smiles at the way the headphones frame his face. It’s stupid, to be so fond of something so simple, but that’s what all the cheesy love songs and Hallmark cards say he should expect, for his person to create beauty in the mundane.

And Dean is really,  _ really _ fucking good at that.

Dean is oblivious, even when Cas is standing right in front of him. He sits down on what little space is left on the couch. Dean’s eyes flicker up in annoyance, but the look is quickly replaced by a grin that sparks a warmth deep in Cas’ belly.

But then he does a double-take, and his grin sparks a warmth deep in Cas’ belly. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hey.” His eyes are sparkling when he smiles more broadly at Cas. “Did you, uh, find the atrium okay?”

“Yes, your directions were perfect, thank you.” Cas chuckles as Dean pulls himself up to a regular sitting position, strategically putting a bit more space between them. “Do you have the day off?”

He shakes his head. “Just a couple hours. But hey, better than nothing, r— _ Christ _ , Sammy, warn a guy, huh?” Dean startles and tugs his headphones away from his ears, staring down at the iPad screen in dismay.

Cas cranes his neck to look over and sees a young man with shaggy brown hair grinning widely up at them. He’s got a small puppy who’s trying desperately to get free scooped up in one arm, and waggles his free fingers in a wave, and Dean rolls his eyes. He turns the headphones off and loops them around his neck before increasing the volume a few notches. 

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.

“Your new nephew,” the man—Sammy, Sam, Dean’s little brother, Cas’ brain supplies—says proudly. He holds the tiny puppy up closer to the screen; it sniffs the camera and tries to lick it. “And I’d appreciate you not swearing around Remy’s virgin ears, dude. He’s very impressionable right now.”

Dean rubs a hand down his face. “Of course he is.”

Sam smirks—Cas can tell they’re brothers just from that—and tucks Remy into his arms. He finally seems to become aware of Cas, and leans in closer himself. “I’m not gonna repeat my brother’s question verbatim because I’m not a rude asshole,” he says, and Cas smiles in spite of himself. “But I’m Sam.”

“Cas,” he says, and from the way Sam raises his eyebrows, Cas can tell this isn’t the first time Sam’s heard his name.

“So  _ you’re  _ Cas,” he says, eyes darting between him and Dean.

Dean turns the iPad more fully toward himself and mutters something through clenched teeth that sounds something like, “Ever heard of something called a goddamn  _ poker face _ , asshole?”

He and Sam bicker for a few more seconds, and when Dean finally turns the iPad to face the both of them again, Sam’s working hard to bite back a grin. “It’s great to meet you, man,” he says, “seriously.”

“You, too.”

They talk for a few more minutes, Sam’s feed freezing every so often thanks to the ship’s shitty WiFi, and once Dean ends the call, promising Sam that he’ll buy Remy a bandana at the next port, he glances awkwardly at Cas.

“So,” he says. “That’s Sam. Sorry he’s a walking embarrassment.”

“It’s all right. You were right about his Eighth Wonder of the World hair, though.” Cas bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at Dean’s incredulous face.

“Fuckin’ dickbags, both of you,” Dean mutters good-naturedly. He pulls himself to his feet and tucks the iPad under his arm before motioning for Cas to follow him. “C’mon. I’ll show you the soft serve machine that  _ doesn’t _ get restocked by the guy with chronic dandruff.”

* * *

Eventually, Cas perfects the art of sneaking down to the crew quarters. He figures out the best times to dodge as many people as possible in the hall, commits Dean’s—and Benny’s, can’t be too careful—schedule to memory, and finally starts to get comfortable carrying his fake ID with him.

To their credit, Gabe and Balthazar had dealt with their youngest brother disappearing every so often with a casualness that Cas found almost alarming. Specifics of Cas’ ventures went unsaid, but he had no doubt they knew what he was up to—especially when he’d gotten out of the shower one day. to see the pile of condoms stacked neatly on his pillow with the note “Keep the crabs on the beach” placed delicately on top.

“Really?” Dean asks when Cas appears at his door the morning of their port day in Saint Maarten, surprised by the idea that he’d opted out of a beautiful day on the beach in favor of an afternoon in his messy, cramped cabin. “This ain’t exactly paradise.”

“Looks like it to me,” he says, linking his hands together behind Dean’s neck and kissing the tip of his nose. 

Dean chuckles and shoves him away, hand rubbing against his nose like a little kid who’d just sneezed. “You’re an embarrassment.”

“You love it.”

“Never said I didn’t.” Dean’s smile is soft and fond, he looks at Cas for a few seconds before averting his gaze to the room behind them. “Seriously, though. Saint Maarten is awesome. And they got great gelato.”

“Maybe we can get some when we go on our own trip.” Cas sidesteps him without another word, stepping further into the room to effectively call the conversation finished.

He smiles to himself when he hears Dean sigh and close the door behind him.

He’d had a feeling that skipping Saint Maarten for Dean’s cabin would be a good decision, but the last half hour of kissing and groping and arguably the greatest blowjob Cas has ever received further confirms his suspicions.

“So,” Cas says later, snuggling up even closer against Dean, who’s got one hand tucked behind his head, the other playing absently with Cas’ hair, “did you have an obsession with pirates when you were younger?”

“Uh, not in the weird way.”

Cas hadn’t realized there  _ was _ a weird way to be obsessed with pirates, but he presses forward without comment. 

“What about boats? Exploring the high seas?”

Dean chuckles. “The one time I went on a boat when I was a kid, I got so sick I couldn’t move the entire afternoon.”

Cas wrinkles his nose. “What are you doing here, then?”

A shrug. “Grew out of it.”

“Okay...what about wanderlust? A few of my friends got into it after college, went backpacking through Europe.”

“Man, I barely even finished college.”

Cas pauses. “Was your grandfather lost at sea? Your grandmother, maybe?”

And that one’s enough for Dean; he props himself up on his elbows and stares at Cas incredulously. “The fuck you gettin’ at?”

Cas gives a tiny shrug, resting his free hand on Dean’s chest. “Just trying to figure out why someone would voluntarily spend nine months of the year out at sea in a room that was smaller than my college dorm. Especially when they seem to have a pretty good life going for themselves back on land.”

He tries to hide it, but Cas still feels Dean stiffen next to him as he eases himself back down. “What,” he says weakly, “you’re telling me you never had the urge to quit your job, pack all your shit, and start a new life on the high seas?”

Cas shakes his head slowly. “Can’t say that I have. What, uh, in your experience, might possess someone to do that?”  _ Smooth, Cas. _

Dean hums in response, pressing a kiss to the side of Cas’ head, careful to avoid making eye contact. “It’s nothin’,” he murmurs. “Just needed a change of scenery.”

Cas isn’t giving up that easily. “Do you want to give me a hint, then?”

“Not really.” Dean shrugs. “People go on cruises for lots of reasons. To vacation, retire, die—”

“Jesus.”

“I know. It’s great for the Halloween cruises, though.” He grins at Cas. “Hey, you wanna see the morgue? I can show ya the morgue if you want, it’s always dead down there and—”

Cas looks flatly at Dean, who tries and fails to smother his laugh. “Huh, huh?” he asks expectantly, apparently waiting for Cas to congratulate him on such a shitty joke.

“So what did you go on a cruise for?” Cas asks instead.

After a few seconds, he answers simply, “A break. Sometimes you just gotta find an escape from the real world, you know? Something better.”

“Did you find it?”

Dean purses his lips in contemplation, then glances at Cas. “Dunno. Maybe.” He’s silent for a minute, and Cas is about to call the conversation finished when Dean adds, quietly, “Hey, did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” Cas asks carefully.

Dean closes his eyes, almost like he regrets saying anything at all, but clarifies, “Back in San Juan. When you asked if everything was okay. After I—that you’d listen.” He splays his hand out on Cas’ chest and makes a noise like rushing water, presumably the wine he’d spilled. Cas takes the opportunity and grabs Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Yes.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “My mom always wanted to go on a cruise, y’know,” he finally says after a moment or two of silence. “So I guess that’s the answer to whatever the hell you were tryin’ to get at earlier.” He keeps stroking Cas’ hair with his free hand, but his eyes take on a faraway look. “Dad said they were too expensive, that we couldn’t afford it, but she just kept saying she’d save up. That it’d be worth it, for all four of us to get away for awhile.

“And she did. Just little amounts here and there, but she saved for  _ years _ , Cas. She was so close to quadruple-digits, she was so excited.” He smiles, thinking back to some memory Cas wishes he could see, then hesitates, his fingers going still in Cas’ hair. “Then she got sick.”

Cas’ gut wrenches. “Oh, Dean.”

“It was slow,” Dean says. “Getting worse and worse for years. Every time we’d see her, it was like another tiny piece of the mom who’d read us stories and bake us pie and go camping in the backyard with us had disappeared. And what are you supposed to do,” he says, closing his eyes for a few seconds, “what the fuck are you supposed to do when your mom isn’t your mom anymore?”

Cas wants to say something, anything, but he can’t speak past the lump in his throat.

Dean takes a long breath that he almost gets out without a hitch. “We had to use her cruise money.” Even though Cas had been half-expecting to hear something like this, it feels like a kick to the chest. The way Dean had said it was laced with guilt, and Cas squeezes Dean’s hand helplessly.

“Dean, you didn’t have a ch—”

“Not even to stop it, just to stave off the fucking inevitable.” He shakes his head against the pillow and is silent for a long moment. “It was five years the other day. Thought I could handle it, just suck it up, get through the night.” He smiles humorlessly at Cas. “Guess I couldn’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cas says quietly, wishing he had something better, more comforting to say, especially when he feels Dean shrug his shoulders woodenly underneath him. “I just...I can’t imagine.”

Dean worries his lower lip between his teeth but doesn’t answer, instead turning his head to face the wall, working hard to keep his breathing slow and steady. Choosing not to overthink anything, Cas scoots forward, closing what little space was left between the two of them, and rests his head on the side of Dean’s chest.

They lay that way for a few minutes, until Cas feels Dean squeeze his hand, just a little. He doesn’t say anything, but Cas squeezes back in reply, pressing a soft kiss to the hinge of Dean’s jaw before closing his eyes and falling asleep with Dean’s warmth all around him.

It seems too soon for Dean to be gently nudging Cas awake, untangling their bodies with a halfhearted, “I gotta go to work, babe.”

The shock from hearing Dean just fucking call him  _ babe _ is enough for him to allow himself to be moved without much resistance.

“You think I’m a babe?” he asks sleepily.

Dean glances at him, awkwardly trying to keep his balance as he tugs on his pants. “Do you want to be?”

“What are my options?”

“Tell ya what.” Dean buckles his belt (the belt he can remove with  _ one fucking hand _ , Cas’ mind helpfully reminds him) and starts buttoning up his shirt. “You think about it, and when I get back, you can tell me your nicknames of choice. Good?”

Cas nods, dropping his head back down onto the pillow. “Good.” 

Dean smiles at him and leans over as he adjusts his tie, brushing his hair back and dropping a soft kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep, babe. Hon. Sweetheart. Whatever.”


	7. Chapter 7

Cas is half-expecting to be woken up by Benny pissing with the door open again, so he’s almost even more disoriented when he comes to on his own, Dean’s cabin quiet and dark around him. He feels his way along the wall until he finds the lightswitch, squinting against the light.

He’s not sure how long ago Dean left, but with a lack of anything better to do, he decides to take in more of the cabin. It looks even smaller than Cas remembers, no square foot of space gone to waste. How two grown men have managed to cram their entire lives in here is beyond him, but somehow, they’ve made it work. Shoes are lined up neatly under one desk, a handful of clothes hanging in each of the open closets, tiny shower caddies drying out in the corner.

It’s easy to get lost in the sea of beiges and whites and navy blues that make up most of the room’s bland color palette, so when Cas notices a small stack of color tucked in the corner of Dean’s desk, his curiosity is piqued, and he goes to investigate.

They’re small, thinner than magazines, and Cas grins to himself when he looks at the cover of the one on top of the stack and recognizes Miles Morales’ face, his Spider-Man mask pulled up onto his forehead, looking back at him. He’s only able to flip through the first couple pages when he hears the beep of the cabin door being unlocked again.

“You choose yet, Sleeping Beauty?” Dean asks, closing the door and toeing off his shoes the second he enters the room.

“Not that,” Cas says, wrinkling his nose. 

Dean laughs before ruffling his hand through Cas’ hair and giving him a kiss. “Like when your hair’s all sexed up like this.”

“Where’d you get these?” Cas asks, batting Dean’s hand away and holding out the issue of  _ Spider-Man _ . Dean grabs a handful of the thin books and fans them out between them, looking like he’s showing off his newborn kid.

“Mostly convenience stores,” he says. “But some comic shops too. From all over.” He carefully removes one of the books from the group, tucking the rest under his arm, and flips through the pages. Cas has never really been into comics—and, being totally honest, he’s surprised someone like Dean  _ is _ —but as he watches the way Dean’s fingers reverently ghost over the pages filled with bright colors and action and word balloons, he finds himself thinking maybe he should give them another try.

“When?”

“Ports.” Dean shrugs. “When we’ve got off days. Some people collect postcards, magnets, hell, Benny’s got a collection of fucking salt and pepper shakers. I’ve got comics.”

“Where does he keep them?”

“Bottom of his closet,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Only place there’s room for the fuckin’ things.”

Cas smiles and carefully flips through more of the books, an onslaught of colors and languages and characters he does and doesn’t recognize. They’re arranged in alphabetical order by location: Aruba, Cuba, Dominican Republic, France, Greece, Italy, Iceland, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, Saint Maarten, West Indies.

Cas finishes looking at the book in his hand and returns it to the stack. “You must be excited for tomorrow, then.”

“Why?”

“Grand Turk. That’s where we’re stopping next, and you don’t have one from there.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “Nope, that’s where  _ you’re _ stopping. Some of us gotta work.” Cas tries, but he can’t stop the way his face falls in disappointment at the news, and Dean rolls his eyes. “I already had my day off and you got a goddamn kiss out of it, remember?” he asks, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders and planting a kiss on his temple.

Cas untangles himself from Dean’s limbs and glares at him, trying and failing to seem annoyed. “So imagine what I’d get this time.”

Dean barks out a laugh. “This frisky Cas new?” he asks, pulling Cas close and kissing him again. “‘Cause I like him.”

“He’d like  _ you _ better if you weren’t working,” Cas mutters, petulant as a child.

“Hey, someone’s gotta be the breadwinner in this relationship.” Cas doesn’t have to try being annoyed at that, and Dean latches onto his impending anger immediately. “My fault,” he says, raising his hands placatingly. “Fucked up. Take it back.”

Cas glares at him, then sighs. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he grumbles.

Dean laughs. “I know.” He reaches over and takes Cas’ hand. “Seriously, though. Grand Turk’s cool. And I’ll get there eventually.”

“We’ll just add it to the itinerary along with Saint Maarten, then?”

Dean squeezes his hand and grins. “Exactly,” he says, leaning forward to give Cas a kiss. “Really, it’s fine. Have fun tomorrow, huh?”

Cas nods and tries to return Dean’s smile. “I will.”

It takes a good few minutes to convince the taxi driver that no, he’s not interested in snorkeling trips or hikes or horseback riding, but rather, wants to go to a local convenience store. 

“Not one for tourist traps, eh?” he asks, glancing at Cas knowingly in the rearview mirror.

“Something like that.”

“Well, Sandford’s got the cheapest liquor around,” he says with a wink. “We’ll stop there.”

Grand Turk is stunning, all crystal clear water and bright sandy beaches, and as they spend the next ten minutes stuck in the middle of a rotary that seems intent on remaining at a standstill for the rest of the day, Cas can’t help but wonder if he’s made the right decision. 

It just takes a second of picturing the way he hopes Dean’s eyes will light up at the gift that he 

A little bell tinkles up above his head as he enters the shop, a small shack with windows decorated with neon signs for beer and posters advertising deals on milk and snacks. The clerk, a kid in his late teens, looks him up and down skeptically. 

“You lost?” he asks, setting down the drinks he’d been arranging in a display next to the counter.

“That depends,” Cas says. “Do you sell comic books?”

Dean’s going to love it, Cas thinks as he reboards the ship, gripping the slim paper bag holding the newest addition to Dean’s collection. It’s weird—the whole thing is told from the point of view of Hawkeye’s dog—but if his interest in Cas is anything to go by, then he’s pretty sure that “weird” is right up Dean’s alley.

Once he’s back on board, Cas heads for Alchemy; Dean should be there until about an hour before the dinner rush, and he wants to sneak it to him before he moves over to The Restaurant for the night. 

He stops short when he sees that the only people behind the bar are women.

No, no, no, that can’t be right. 

Cas moves through the ship in a haze, his eyes scanning The Restaurant, the deck, poolside, the atrium, but there’s no sign of Dean anywhere. He should be here somewhere, but it’s not like Cas can just start asking people where his ridiculously handsome and ridiculously secret boyfriend is.

_ Benny _ .

Cas turns on his heel, nearly smacking into a woman carefully balancing a tray stacked with food, and heads toward the dining hall. 

The Cajun food station’s got a sizeable line, and Cas joins it, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot. By the time he gets to the window, he’s got his hands balled into fists to stop them from trembling, and almost jumps when he hears someone shout, “Next!”

It’s Benny’s voice, and Cas swallows past the lump in his throat as he approaches the window. Benny’s face hardens when he sees him, and his hands, which had been crafting sandwiches and pouring gumbo and setting up plates, go still.

Cas flashes him a tiny, hopeful smile he hopes doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. “Have you seen him?”

Benny stares at him, almost like he’s trying to gauge whether or not his question is serious. Finally, he tugs off his clear food-handling gloves and says over his shoulder, “Rufus, I’m taking my ten.”

Things aren’t any more comfortable when Benny takes a seat across from him at a too-small table near a window. “Some nerve you’ve got, Chief,” he finally says, shaking his head.

Cas wrinkles his nose. “What?”

“Walking in here playing all dumb.”

“What?” Cas repeats, his gut twisting at how ominous Benny’s words sound. “Is he okay? What happened?”

Benny scoffs. “You really telling me you don’t know.”

Cas shakes his head. When it’s clear that Benny doesn’t believe him, he tries another tactic. “I got him something,” he says lamely, almost helplessly. He pulls out the paper bag and slides it across the table toward Benny. “At port. I know he collects them, and I just thought...” His voice trails off as Benny slides the comic out of the bag, studying it. “I wanted to give it to him. As a surprise.”

Benny’s lips press together into a thin line, and he shakes his head before sliding the comic back to Cas. “He’s not here.”

If Cas is honest with himself, Benny’s words are starting to piece themselves together into a scenario he doesn’t want to think about, so he decides to ignore the steadily building panic worming its way into his chest. “Where is he?”

“Airport, by now, probably.”

“Why would he—”

“Did Dean ever tell you what would happen if you two were caught?”

Cas stares at him for a second, disbelieving. His eyes go wide, and he shakes his head, all his thoughts crashing into each other at once. “No. No, no, no. Why—Dean trusted you, he  _ trusted _ you!” He jumps to his feet and jabs angrily at Benny’s chest with his finger until the man swats his hand away.

“Dean was the best damn person on this ship,” he says, voice dangerously low and quiet. “Don’t you think for a goddamn second that I would’ve sold him out. It. Wasn’t. Me.”

Cas stares at him helplessly. They’d been careful, if Benny hadn’t said anything, then—

The name pops back into Cas’ head in an instant, and he snaps his fingers. “Charlie!” he says, his voice going a pitch closer to hysteria. “The other night, you mentioned Charlie. Where is she?” 

Benny shakes his head, reaching across the table to drop a massive hand onto Cas’ shoulder in some attempt at comfort. “He didn’t even  _ tell _ her. Just you and me, Chief.” He sighs. “They waited until we docked to confront him on it, try to make the smallest scene possible while y’all were out gallivanting. Kid came into our room, hugged me, said he’d see me once we got back to Florida. ‘S when they’ll have all his stuff taken out too.”

“He...you got to hug him?” Cas’ voice is small even to his ears, and Benny softens, probably at how pathetic he must sound.

“Listen, brother, I’m on ‘til six.” He gets to his feet and rests his palms on the table. “Find me around here after and I’ll fill ya in as much as I can, all right?”

Cas nods, his body just as numb as his mind, and Benny gives him a sad smile before heading back to work.

He stays there as if frozen, staring at nothing, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding and his ears are buzzing.

Dean is gone. He’s alone in another country with nothing and no one, and it’s all Cas’ fault. What’s worse is that he knows, he  _ knows _ Dean would find a way to blame himself entirely.

_ This isn’t your fault, Cas. I’m an adult, I knew the risks, and I took ‘em. Don’t you dare blame yourself here; don’t make me kick your ass. _

In spite of himself, Cas almost smiles.

He’s so wrapped up in his emotions and trying to keep it together that he doesn’t notice someone approaching his table until they speak.

“Calvin, is it?” 

Cas looks up to see Alastair smiling sweetly at him, and he swallows down the shiver trying to make its way up his spine.

“Uh, no,” Cas says. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

Alastair chuckles and punches Cas’ upper arm lightly, like they’re two pals, and Cas wants to go drown himself in hand sanitizer. “Let’s cut the bullshit, sweetheart,” he says, settling into the chair Benny had been occupying just a few seconds ago. “You’re sad. Want to tell me why?”

“I’m fine,” Cas says blankly.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Cas doesn’t answer, and Alastair leans forward with a dramatic groan, sprawling himself across the table. “No? Let’s get to know each other instead, then. Tell me, what is it you  _ really _ do?”

_ What is it I really _ —Cas freezes, taking an embarrassingly long time to connect the pieces, and Alastair’s smile gets wider as he does so. “Y—it was you.”

“Oops.”

Cas stares at him, stunned, and Alastair shakes his head, seeming almost disappointed. “I knew Dean was dim, but this, hooking up with a  _ guest _ —“ he laughs, shaking his head, “—It’s a shame, really. He didn’t know how good he had it. It had been so nice to have an extra view on this ship too, at my beck and call for whenever I wanted him.” 

It all comes crashing back at that, the way Alastair had touched Dean, the way Dean had cringed. For the first time, Cas makes full, unflinching eye contact with Alastair.

_ “He’s still pissed that I got out of it.” _

Alastair’s still talking, and Cas grinds his teeth. “Figures, I suppose,” he says with an over dramatic sigh. “What’s that saying—‘two halves of a whole idiot.’ Awkward moron like you, little whore like him. You two deserve each other.”

Cas doesn’t remember much after that. He doesn’t remember clenching his hand into a fist and lunging at Alastair, being held back from releasing all his pent-up anger and sadness and heartbreak—both his and Dean’s—on Alastair’s smug face. He doesn’t remember Benny and a few other crew members rushing over to break up the fight before it started. He doesn't remember any of it happening.

But apparently all of it did, because now he’s in the ship infirmary, knuckles bruised and swollen, Benny at his side.

“Guess I gotta thank you,” Benny says. “Made the last bit of my shift a hell of a lot more interesting.”

Cas stares at the floor, a sharp pang in his gut at the phrase “last bit of my shift.” He wonders what Dean did during the last bit of his, if he even had a chance to have one before getting thrown off this stupid boat in the middle of the stupid ocean with no way to get home but on a—

“He had to fly home,” Cas says suddenly, looking helplessly up at Benny. Dean hates flying. Hates it. It was one of the first things Cas had learned about him after their day in San Juan. His mind is flooded with images of Dean sitting rigid in his seat, hands clutching the armrests so tight they’re practically white. “He’s flying home alone. Because of me.”

Benny’s face softens and he rests a massive hand on his shoulder. “I know. And I know it don’t mean much now, but I think Dean picked himself a good one.”

Cas forces a small smile on his face, while wishing he could think the same.

Shortly after Benny leaves to return to his shift, Gabe and Balthazar burst into the room with the energy of two parents getting ready to pick up their misbehaving kid from the principal’s office.

“Well, well, well, would you look at whose balls finally dropped!” Gabe crows, slapping Cas on the back. “’Bout time you learned how to throw a punch.” 

Balthazar hangs back, leaning against the doorjamb with an amused look on his face. “And here we were thinking  _ you’d _ be the one to keep  _ us _ out of trouble.”

Cas doesn’t know what to say, so he just sits there silently, curling his fingers in the edges of his oversized hoodie and wishing it was Dean’s. “I should’ve done something,” he mutters after a moment, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as his brothers pull up chairs close to him. “I should’ve...I could’ve stopped this.”

“Hold on, you think this was  _ your _ fault?” Balthazar asks incredulously.

“Newsflash,” Gabe says, slinging his leg over the side of the chair, “neither one of you could keep it in your pants, so whose fault is this,  _ really _ ?”

Balthazar raises a finger cheerfully. “Aphrodisiacs.”

Cas shakes his head miserably. “But I — this was his livelihood, and now that’s ruined.”

“Just add it to the list of things you two have in common. Nothing more romantic than job-hunting together.”

Cas laughs hollowly. “You say that as if you think he’ll even speak to me after this.”

“If he was into you enough that he’d be willing to lose his goddamn job, I’m sure he’d be open to some good old reconciliation.”

“I don’t even have his phone number.”

Gabe can’t stop himself this time; he barks out a laugh that has Cas glaring at him. “Ever heard of Facebook? Twitter? Instagram?  _ Yellooooo _ , the only way you’re  _ not _ hearing from that male modeling son of a bitch is if you don’t try.

“Now, more important, what are the perks to almost getting pummeled by a crew member? Any ’sclusies we can take advantage of?”

Cas watches Gabe start meandering around the infirmary, poking his nose into different drawers and cabinets searching for god knows what, before dropping his head back down into his arms. He’d probably stay there for the rest of their trip if he hadn’t felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looks up to see Balthazar standing above him, making his best attempt at a comforting smile.

“A piece of advice?” he asks. When Cas nods, he continues, “If I were you, I’d try.”

Later that night, Cas sits on the edge of a lounge chair on the main deck, hunched in on himself. They’re due to arrive back in Fort Lauderdale in a few short hours, so instead of a one-way ticket on his own plane home, Cas is stuck with promises of hefty fines and prohibition from future cruises. Turns out, picking a fight with a crew member, no matter how much he might have deserved it, isn’t exactly encouraged.

His mind swimming with the events of the past few hours, Cas turns the fake ID card over and over in his hands. He should get rid of it, he knows that, just throw it overboard, but getting rid of it would mean that none of this happened.

Then again, maybe things would have been better if none of it had.

The last day of the trip passes in a haze. Gabe and Balthazar try to make small talk, distract him, but Cas is having none of it. He stays out on their balcony, staring out at the horizon and imagining all the terrifying creatures that fascinate Dean so much until they arrive back in Fort Lauderdale.

As they debark, everyone around him is exhausted but happy, lamenting the end of their vacations, already making plans for next time. In stark contrast, his face is carefully blank, watching as his fellow passengers head back to their normal lives.

Cas wishes he had one he could even attempt to get back to.

Cas stares absently around the chaos of the port as Gabe argues with an Uber driver and Balthazar wrangles up some snacks. His eyes scan the area around him, not even sure what exactly he’s looking for, until they catch on one familiar figure leaning against a pole far away from the ship itself, legs crossed casually at the ankles, arms folded over his chest. 

He doesn’t even need to see the stupid, crooked smile to know who it is.

Cas’ mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish as he closes the space between them, walking faster and faster, tempted to just ditch his fucking suitcase right there. He almost wants to reach out and brush Dean’s face with his fingers, prove to himself that he’s really here.

Before he can though, Dean takes off his sunglasses, squinting at him with those honey-warm eyes, a smile at the ready, and waves casually.

“Looks like we did end up having two fired assholes on that boat, huh?” He uncrosses his ankles and reaches behind him, digging a bright, multicolored square of cloth out of his back pocket and unfolding it triumphantly. “But look, at least I got Remy his bandana.”

Cas stares at him, trying hard to hold back his emotions. “You can’t, no,” he falters, running a hand through his hair like he had seen Dean do countless times. “I ruined your life.”

Dean raises his eyebrows incredulously. “You didn’t—”

“I should’ve—this is my fault, I—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Dean reaches over and grips Cas by the shoulders, locking eyes with him. “I’m a big boy. I can make my ow—”

The words are so close to what Cas had pictured him saying back on the ship that he wants to cry, but instead he just shakes his head and grabs Dean’s wrists, shoving him away. “Dean, it’s because of me that you don’t have a  _ job _ anymore!” He tries to hide his frustration, but he feels like a toddler halfway through a meltdown, and the hordes of people casting concerned glances their way aren’t helping, either.

Dean’s tongue pokes out to wet his lips, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’d rather have you.” He says it simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Cas wants to cry. 

Instead, the logical side of his brain takes over, and he replies, “You met me ten days ago.”

Dean shrugs. “Hey, if those douchebags on  _ The Bachelor _ can be in love after ten minutes, I think I’m allowed to say I like you after ten goddamn days.”

Cas stares at him, then reaches forward and pulls Dean into a desperate hug.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” he murmurs into Dean’s chest. He squeezes tighter when he feels Dean laugh.

“Well, fuck you, too, sunshine.” He tilts Cas’ chin up and smiles before pressing their lips together.


	8. Chapter 8

** _Epilogue: One year later_ **

“What about Alaska?”

“Getting frostbite isn’t on my short list of vacation activities, thank you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Next thing you’ll be saying is that you want to try hiking Mount Everest.”

Dean pauses, then scratches out something in his notebook as discreetly as possible.

“People  _ die _ up there, Dean!”

“Fine, fine. What about...Rhode Island?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Hear they’ve got a bomb iced tea.”

“I hate you.”

Remy looks up from where he’s curled up in Cas’ lap, his eyes wide. One look at them, and Cas gets why Dean had been saying he learned from Sam. “Not you, Rems,” he says, stroking the top of the dog’s head reassuringly. “Just your idiot uncle.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” 

Cas flips him off—a gesture that’s become way more prevalent in his daily life than he’d like to admit—and Dean throws his head back with a laugh. He shakes his head, still grinning to himself, and continues tapping on his keyboard.

Scratching absently behind Remy’s ear, Cas spends the next few minutes just watching Dean be Dean. He’s sitting on their secondhand couch, socked feet propped up on the coffee table with a laptop balanced on his lap. When he finds something interesting, he squints and leans in close to the screen, close enough that Cas can see bits of the webpage he’s on reflecting in the lenses of his glasses.

Which, that’s another thing—Dean wears  _ glasses _ .

“Only for the computer,” he’d said defensively, cheeks going pink in embarrassment when he first wore them in front of Cas. 

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure you use a computer more often then, huh?”

Cas still catches himself smiling at the shy little grin Dean thought he’d hidden at the comment.

He snuggles Remy a bit closer, nuzzling his nose in the puppy’s soft fur. He lets his mind wander back to when he’d left the ship, how he’d wished he had some kind of a normal life to come back to.

He’d expected his life to change, but he hadn’t expected to come back to this, to a new job he actually enjoys, to a regular puppy-sitting gig for his four-legged nephew, to a ridiculously sweet, charming, endearing as hell boyfriend, to be planning an anniversary trip with said boyfriend...who he may or may not be in love with.

It’s not the life he left, but as he watches Dean scrutinize something on the computer screen, brows furrowed in concentration, the tip of a pen between his teeth, he realizes it’s one he can’t imagine being without.

“I have an idea,” he says suddenly, and Dean looks up, pen still dangling between his lips like a cigarette.

“Yeah? Hit me.”

Cas bites the inside of his cheek to try and hold himself together as he asks, “What if we went on a cruise?”

Dean stares at him, brows furrowed, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he tries to figure Cas out. Finally, he makes his decision and shakes his head.

“Keep looking, Rhode Island Iced Tea.”


End file.
